


Sansa of Winterfell

by Fortheloveofjonsnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Jane Austen - Fandom
Genre: A little slow burn, Alternate Universe - Real World, Arranged Marriage, Character Deaths, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period typical attitudes toward love and marriage, Post-Napoleonic Wars, Scarlet Fever epidemic, Sexual Content, set in early/mid 1800's, some hints of jane austen-ish world, things get worse before they get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 68
Words: 203,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortheloveofjonsnow/pseuds/Fortheloveofjonsnow
Summary: Orphaned Sansa Stark has been passed from uncaring relatives and acquaintances all her life. Now a grown woman, she receives a letter from her distant cousin, Jon Snow, the man who inherited her father's estate offering his hand in marriage. Seizing the opportunity to escape her venomous relatives and reclaim her home, Sansa travels north... to Scotland, and reclaims not only her home, but her heart and her identity as well.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 1532
Kudos: 3141





	1. Prologue: When Sansa Thought of Scotland

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are so many lovely Jonsa fics out there, and probably more than one set in this period, but I wanted to try my hand at it. I don't know if there is an audience for this type of fic... but I hope if you stumble upon it that you enjoy it!

“You are an ungrateful, little wretch!” Aunt Lysa shouted at her, “After all these years of Petyr and I caring for you, raising you, preparing you to be a lady of your own house someday, and you go and throw yourself away on Marillion and then refuse to marry Hardying!”

Sansa squared her shoulders. She would not cry, tears were for the cover of night when no one could see her, “Harry’s lying about me, Aunt, he’s lying because I refused to wed him.”

“Lying or not, how could you refuse to wed him?” Aunt Lysa hissed, “He’s one of the riches men in this county.”

“He was improper toward me, Aunt, I would not sally my reputation….”

“I don’t care about your reputation, Hardying is one of the wealthiest bachelors in this county, you should have been flattered he’d want a little Scottish witch like you in the first place.”

“Yes, Aunt,” Sansa said coolly, having grown accustomed to Lysa berating.

“Now, now, Lysa, we mustn’t make sweet Sansa cry,” Petyr told his wife, “Come now and give your Uncle Petyr a kiss and then go tuck little Robyn into bed.”

Sansa obeyed dutifully and tried not to cringe as she kissed Petyr’s cheek, and pretended not to notice how her aunt glowered in hatred at her. As she left the room, she could hear Lysa and Petyr arguing about her continued presence here. Sansa had never been welcomed here or anywhere, but it did not make her sad anymore… her skin had turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

After the death of her parents, Sansa had spent her younger years with her father’s best friend, a drunken lech who cared little about the doings of his cruel wife, and crueler son. After several years, of being either tormented or entirely forgotten about Mrs. Baratheon had finally decided they could no longer care for Ned Stark’s poor orphan and had Sansa shipped off to her last remaining English relative, her mother’s sister Lysa. Sansa knew even then that her Aunt Lysa and her husband, Petyr had not wanted her, and she spent her teenage trying desperately to avoid their wrath or unwanted attention. She was twenty now, a woman grown, and had she a penny to her name she would leave them all tomorrow and never look back. She spent many a night dreaming of running away, to where she did not know, but the dream was there, and it haunted her. Lysa and Petyr had been conspiring for over a year to marry Sansa off to Harold Hardying, a wealthy and handsome businessman, whom for a while Sansa believed would be her rescuer for the hell she had been living for the majority of her life. He had loved her… or so she thought until he had begun making untoward advances on her. He asked her to marry him and when she refused, he had spread vicious lies around town that she had been carrying on with a local musician named, Marillion, all while trying to social climb through Harry. Thanks to Hardying her prospects for a good match in the region were reduced to none, as neither her Uncle Petyr nor her Aunt were willing to stand up for her honor, both blaming the whole debacle on Sansa for having refused Harry in the first place.

“Sansa, aren’t you coming to read me a story?” Little Robyn cried from his doorway wiping snot from his nose onto the sleeve of his night shirt.

“Yes, I’m coming sweet Robyn,” Sansa sighed deeply as she climbed the remaining for steps, and entered Robyn’s room, “What story would you have?” she asked as she sat on the edge of his bed.

“One with dragons….” Said Robyn and Sansa nodded, weary of her role as Robyn’s governess. Robyn could be sweet, but he could also be very foul tempered like his mother, and he treated all those who were not his mother like the hired help. Sansa had more than once been inclined to give the indolent child a swift spanking but had always thought better of it when she considered what Aunt Lysa retribution would be. She told Robyn a story of Dragons, and kings, and outlaws who lived in the woods, until the little boy was fast asleep. She left out all the parts of the story she had once loved as a child herself, the parts about love and happily ever after’s. Robyn did not care about those types of stories anyway, and Sansa, as an adult, had come to understand that love was a fairytale dreamed up by cruel men to make young women amenable to marriage and childbearing. Sansa had dreamed of love once, of having a family of her own, but those dreams were long ago buried, underneath a mound of other lost dreams, buried with her parents and her siblings

* * *

A slow month had passed since Sansa had spurned Harry Hardying and lost her reputation in one fell swoop. She had tried not to draw any attention to herself and prayed that all of this would blow over like the tide on the beach. As long as she was keeping up with little Robyn and doing as she was told, when she was told, Lysa would leave her be, and she could have her nights free to dream her dreams of running away. Sansa knew though that she would never be able to run away, she knew what happened to women alone in the world with no protection and no money to their name. Sansa shuddered at the thought. She may be alone in the world, but she was still a Stark, or at least she thought she was. The south had all but expunged her Scottish identity, and sometimes she felt she did not know who she was anymore.

Autumn had arrived and Sansa tried to be chipper as she skipped down the stairs, hoping for a letter from her one friend from London who had kept her from losing her mind and self when she had lived with the Baratheons. She saw the mail sitting on the hall table and was taken aback to find a letter with her name on it in an unfamiliar hand… and it was open. Sansa looked at the name of the sender… Jon Snow… A shiver went down her spine, and she marched into the dining room where she knew her aunt would be. She found Lysa standing there with the contents of her letter in her hand.

“How dare you open my mail?” Sansa demanded, her temper momentarily getting the better of her. Lysa slapped her across the face. Sansa barely flinched, she had been hit much worse by crueler hands.

“It’s my mail as long as I put food in your belly!” Lysa sneered.

Sansa fumed but said nothing.

“Your cousin, Jon Snow, the little bastard who inherited your father’s estate is writing to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“What?” Sansa was dumbfounded, “Jon has never met me.”

“And it’s probably a good thing too, otherwise he’d probably think to leave you here for your cheek.”

“He wants to marry me?” Sansa cringed, unable to think of anything coherent to say.

“And you will too, otherwise you’ll find yourself out on your backside,” Lysa threw the letter at her, “Petyr and I have already decided, you cannot stay here anymore, you are a grown woman, we have already dispatched your response.”

Sansa thought she may have been slapped again.

“Jon Snow is an affluent, Scottish Lord, and he wants to take you home to a castle that should be yours by rights if you had been born male,” Lysa said trying to sound practical, “These are your best prospects after the debacle with Harry.”

Sansa knew her reputation had been irreparably stained by Hardying’s lies. Did Jon Snow know about them? Her face flushed with shame at the idea, though she had nothing to be ashamed of. In a daze, she went back to her room to think. She could barely remember Scotland… her childhood home, the land of her father. When her father had died and Sansa had heard that her ancestral home was being inherited by a veritable stranger, she had come to hate Jon Snow for a time. She had, however, grown out of that hate and into a casual indifference as England became her country and Scotland seemed like a distant memory, a million miles away. She was not sure why Jon chose now to contact her or why he was willing to marry her. By law Winterfell was his, no matter who her father was. She briefly glanced over his letter, it was vague and straight to the point and indicated no emotion or revelation of character. She wanted to harden her heart toward him again but found that she could not. He had offered her a path away from Uncle Petyr’s grasping hands, Hardying’s wearying advances and lies, and Lysa’s rage. But who was Jon Snow? Was she stepping out of the lion’s den and into a dragon pit? What if he was a brute or cruel like Joff? Sansa wrung her hands. If she did not go to Jon, Lysa and Petyr would toss her out, she had no doubt of it. She had been walking on thin ice for awhile now. _Perhaps this was the only way…?_

* * *

When Sansa thought of Scotland, she imagined fairies frolicking in the glens and the sound of bagpipes always faintly heard in the distance. What she had not imagined nor remembered was this rugged, wild beauty that whispered of magic, as well as dark, and bloody things. Jon Snow had replied to Aunt Lysa’s acceptance of his proposal with only a simple letter stating that he would send for Sansa as soon as possible. Sansa had not been sure what to make of the letter, or the taciturn nature of its author. She had hoped that he would come and fetch her himself, so that she might make a measure of him before running off to Scotland to be his wife, but he had only sent a burly red-headed coach driver who had regaled Sansa at each rest stop with tales too far fetched to be true.

“He’s a good lad, Jon Snow,” said the burly man with the tangled beard as they ate their lunch.

“I’m sure,” Sansa said trying to be polite.

“I’m happy to see him taking a wife,” continued the blunt man, “He needs some wee bairns about him, and a pretty face to make him smile again.”

Sansa felt her face flush at the mention of babies. Of course, she was not so innocent to think that their marriage would remain chaste but being bound to a total stranger in such a way, set her teeth on edge and her heart pounding. Would returning to Winterfell be worth it? Sansa hoped so, but she had long ago lost faith in her girlish hopes. She was marrying Jon Snow out of necessity not foolish dreams of love and home… she knew those things were long gone.


	2. Shadows on the Wall (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's enthusiasm for the last chapter, absolutely blew me away! Thank you for the lovely comments and for reading, you made my day! 
> 
> Here is the next little chapter, the chapters will probably get a little longer as the story progresses. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys!

Sansa stared up the long road that led to what had once been her father’s estate… her home. She felt tears sting the back of her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away… tears were for the cover of night when no one could see her. Her heart raced as she wondered what sort of place…what sort of life she was about to step into. She felt small and alone, but she did her best to hide it as Tormund called to her, asking her to get back in the coach so that they might continue. Tormund had been a most amusing travel companion, and more than once she had wished to ask him about Jon Snow, but had never been able to muster the words.

“On to the castle, my lady?” Tormund bellow with a laugh.

“Yes, please, Tormund,” Sansa said softly as she shut the door of the carriage and the horses pulled them up the road. Sansa stared out the window, trying to conjure memories of her childhood here, but everything felt and seemed so different it was like she could remember nothing at all. It was not until the big, stone castle came into view, a relic from another time, did Sansa begin to see the ghosts of her childhood peeking out from behind the trees. Sansa felt emotions threatening to choke her. As they clamored into the cobble stone courtyard, Sansa sat back and took a deep breath. This had been her home once, so long ago it felt like another life… another girl. She glanced back out the carriage window at the sad, grey walls of Winterfell and listened as strange voices, shouted and laughed, in a language she barely understood. _Gaelic_. She had known it once, but no longer, having lost the tongue of her father’s country as she had been buried in the culture and trappings of England, even her accent had faded.

When the coach stopped the door was opened by an older, balding man with a short grey beard and kind eyes.

“Miss Stark, welcome home,” _was he addressing her?_ No one had called her that in so many years, though she was in fact the last remaining Stark.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Sansa replied politely as she took his offered hand to help her out of the carriage.

“My name is Davos Seaworth, my lady, and Jon has instructed me to make sure you are settled,” Davos said, and Sansa found his casual use of Mr. Snow’s first name, rather odd. Further, she was surprised that Jon Snow was not there to greet her, they were to be wed in only a few days’ time and had yet to lay eyes on each other. Sansa stepped out of the carriage and stared up at the house and saw the shadows of her childhood on the walls. Tormund began unloading her trunk, and Sansa noted that Davos had an odd look on his face as he studied her luggage.

“Is this your only trunk?” He looked taken aback.

“Yes,” Sansa said softly. She did not have much by way of belongings, and her wardrobe was small and practical, which had befitted her station as a young woman totally dependent upon the kindness of relatives… and her relatives were not particularly kind. Davos scratched his chin and nodded, looking rather uncomfortable.

“Come, Miss, Stark, you must be tired and hungry, and it looks like the sky is threatening a storm,” Davos said and offered her his arm to lead her inside. She wanted to ask why Mr. Snow was not there to greet her. _Was he not as curious about her as she was about him? Would she only be another shadow on the wall here?_

“Thank you,” Sansa responded, remembering her manners.

They entered the big, stone structure and Sansa’s breathe caught in her chest. It was much the same as she remembered, the portraits hanging on the wall, the same furniture… it was if time had been frozen and she was a little girl again… back when she had been happy. The house seemed untouched as if Jon Snow had not lived there at all.

“Everything alright, my lady?” Davos asked, and Sansa realized she had stopped in their tracks.

“Yes,” said Sansa and allowed herself to be led forward. Quietly, Davos led her up the stairs, allowing her freedom to study the halls and the rooms that had once been the stomping ground of her and Robb and Arya so many years ago. Davos led her to what she knew used to be her mother’s room… a large, comfortable chamber meant for the lady of the house. The door was opened before her and she released a breath she did not know she was holding. Sansa remembered sitting on the large, four-poster bed in the middle of the room while her mother brushed and braided her hair, when she had been a little girl.

“Everything is freshly washed and clean, and there is plenty of room for your clothes and belongings,” Davos explained, and as if on cue Tormund arrived and set her trunk at the foot of the bed, “Mrs. Tarly will be along shortly to see to any other needs you might have until a suitable lady’s maid can be hired, I’ve already put advertisements out…”

Sansa nodded. She had not had a lady’s maid since she had been a child. She had grown quite used to caring for herself and was not sure a lady’s maid was a necessary expense.

“Would you like me to send supper to up to you, or would you like to come down to the dining room?” Davos asked.

“What will Mr. Snow be doing?” Sansa asked, wanting to be accommodating.

“Jon will not be here this evening,” said Davos, “I expect him back in the morning.”

“Oh,” was all Sansa could say, so Jon was not there at all. “Will anyone else be taking supper in the dining room?”

“No, I don’t expect so.”

“Then supper may be sent up,” Sansa said, “I don’t wish to be of any trouble.”

“You are of no trouble at all, Miss Stark,” Davos said with an easy smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and Sansa dropped her eyes to the floor, “I will let Cook know.”

Davos left her then and Sansa moved slowly to the bed and sat down on the edge. She ran her hand along the silky, blush pink quilt that covered the bed, and studied the room, still filled with her mother’s furniture. She wondered if her family’s personal belongings were stored away somewhere in the big house… if her mother’s dresses were stored somewhere, perhaps she could alter a few to fit her. She had always been handy with a needle, and it had been some time since she had had a new dress. Sansa startled when a knock came to the door, she smoothed her skirts and stood.

“Come in,” answered Sansa and was met with the cheerful face of a young woman not very much older than her, who was obviously with child.

“Hello, I’m Gilly Tarly,” said the woman, in thick Scottish accent, that made Sansa feel oddly homesick, though she was in fact home.

“Hello, Mrs. Tarly,” Sansa offered her a friendly smile.

“You are quite the beauty, Miss Stark, and please call me Gilly.”

“Sansa.”

“Well enough,” Gilly grinned, “I’m happy to have another woman about the estate, there are not many women here except for the kitchen staff.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“Aye, my husband is the local physician, and Jon lets us a cottage on the estate, its quite lovely, I’ll have to have you up for tea sometime,” Gilly said kindly.

“I would like that very much, thank you Gilly,” Sansa replied.

“Cook will be up shortly with your supper, but I can help you with anything else you might need,” Gilly offered, moving to start a fire in the hearth to warm the room. There was definitely a storm rolling in and the air of the evening had grown cold.

“Thank you,” Sansa was not sure what to make of what seemed to be extraordinary kindness of those she had so far met.

“I can draw you a bath if you’d like,” Gilly offered.

“There’s no need Gilly, I’m likely to fall asleep soon,” Sansa felt the weariness of travel creeping up on her.

“Would you need any help unpacking?”

“I, um, I think I’ll manage,” Sansa opened her trunk to pull out her night clothes for later, “But thank you for your kindness.”

“If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask. I believe Jon is due back in the morning…”

Sansa noted once again the casual use of Mr. Snow’s first name, “What is he…” She started but thought better of it. She felt a an unusual kinship with Gilly but did not imagine she should be interrogating people about Mr. Snow. 

“You can ask,” Gilly grinned.

Sansa gnawed on her lower lip, considering the possible consequences of asking impertinent questions about the master of the house, “What is he like?”

Gilly chuckled, “He’s a quiet, brooding sort, but kind,” Gilly patted her hand before turning to leave, “He’ll be good to you.”

Sansa could only nod, words escaping her.

“I’ll stop by in the morning and see how you are getting on,” Gilly promised.

“Thank you, Gilly.”

* * *

The storm raged outside late that night, and Sansa, despite her words to Gilly lay wide awake and unable to fall asleep. The castle felt haunted, and somehow, she felt that she was an intruder here. She tried to convince herself that she was merely frightened because of the storm and because she was the only one in the house except for the live-in staff whose apartments were quite removed from her own. Scotland howled outside her window, and rain pelted the glass. She tossed in her mother’s bed and pulled the delicate quilt tighter around her. Sansa had once feared the dark, but so many years of lying awake in the dark with no one to soothe those fears had seemed to cure her. Now she used the cover of dark to let loose the tears that often built up inside her throughout the day. She turned over again and glared at the canopy of the bed. She wondered if she would ever be able to sleep in this castle. Rising from the bed, Sansa lit a lamp and drew her robe around her. She needed to walk to clear her thoughts, and since she was the only one in the house, _perhaps she could get away with poling around?_ Walking in her bare feet, Sansa opened her bedroom door and started down the hall. Everything felt so empty and echoed with voices and noises so painful familiar to her and yet so very foreign. Her memories of Scotland and Winterfell at times did not feel like her own. Creeping down the hall, she opened the door to what used to be her bedroom and Sansa did not remember it being quite so pink, or at least it looked pink in the lamp light. Perhaps Jon Snow had made a few changes to the house? Robb’s room was quite different, obviously having been changed from the dwelling of a boy to be guest quarters. Sansa whipped her head around when she thought she heard footsteps, but no one was there.

“It’s just the storm,” She whispered to herself, her heart beating just a little bit faster. To be safe, she swiftly made her way back to her own room but stopped short when she saw the door that led to what used to be her father’s study, beside what was now her room. Taking a deep breath, Sansa pushed open the door and stepped inside. The lamp light illuminated a room which obviously saw frequent use. This was Jon Snow’s study now, and papers were strewn across the desk as evidence of a man who worked hard and often. Sansa ran her hand along the solid wood desk and sighed, remembering hiding beneath her father’s desk while playing Monsters and Maidens with Robb and Arya, and her father sitting there pretending not to notice. He had loved for them to play near him. Sansa had seen fathers, like Uncle Petyr and Mr. Baratheon, who wanted little to do with their children, often sending them away or brushing off their affections. Ned Stark had never been that way… Ned Stark had loved his children. Sansa felt tears well in her eyes, and she tried to brush them away as she continued her curious perusal of the contents of the study. There were two doors off the study, and Sansa wondered what was behind each, she could not remember ever seeing these doors open when she had been a child, or perhaps she had never noticed? Walking quietly to the first door, she opened it and realized it was a door to her own chamber. She flushed slightly at the realization, and softly padded over to the other door to confirm her suspicions. _Were Jon Snow’s chambers just on the other side?_

Nervously, Sansa pushed the door and let out a little scream of surprise when the door collided with someone’s face. There was a groan of pain and the sound of a dog bark. Sansa pulled back from the door, wishing she could melt into the floor and disappear. Shame flushed her face. By the time the door opened, Sansa had backed herself into the side of her father’s old desk and watched in horror as a young man entered the study, clutching a bloodied nose. He looked at her with painfully familiar Stark grey eyes. There was only one person this could be.

“You weren’t supposed to be here!” Sansa exclaimed, the words tumbling from her mouth without permission, and she grimaced as he clutched at the nose, she had bloodied by hitting him with the door. She clutched at the neck line of her robe, acutely aware that she was barefoot and only in her nightclothes. 

The young man looked at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a hint of a smile in his eyes, but perhaps it was the lamp light playing tricks on her.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Stark,” said Jon Snow.


	3. Brussel's Lace (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little chapter. Once I get passed these introductory chapters, I hope to make the chapters a bit longer, but here is the next little bit. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Everyone's enthusiasm and lovely comments, have made me so excited to keep writing! Thank you!

Sansa stared, wide eyed, at Jon Snow, not sure what he was going to say or do after catching her snooping in his study and then bloodying his nose with a door. She took a step forward thinking to help him, but then took a step back not sure he would welcome her help.

“I’m sorry,” She said, in a small voice.

“I’ve had much worse wounds,” said Jon, giving her a half smile.

“Can I…can I help you?” Sansa asked.

Jon looked taken aback, but he nodded. Tentatively, Sansa reached out, holding the lamp higher so she might inspect his nose. She noted he was fully clothed… unlike her.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” she said softly, not meeting his eyes.

“Aye,” said Jon, and reached into his pocket, producing a handkerchief and holding it to his nose.

“There’s water in the pitcher in my room,” Sansa said, and led the way and he quietly followed. She had already issued the invitation before she began to consider the propriety of inviting a man into her bedchambers, whether he was to be her husband or not, he was not yet. They entered her room, and she clumsily poured water from the pitcher into the basin and brought forth a clean cloth. Jon had his head tilted trying to get the bleeding to stop.

“Is the bone broken?” Sansa asked timidly, as she removed the handkerchief he was clutching to his nose and gave him the wet cloth. He winced but shook his head.

“No, I think it is sound,” said Jon, his grey eyes studying her. She wondered what he was thinking, and she imagined he was likely angry finding her poking around in his study and about to enter his private chamber without permission.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said again.

“No need for apologies,” Jon said.

“I mean for opening the door, and for being in your study, its obviously private, its only that I could not sleep, and I thought I was here alone, and I just wanted to see…” Sansa rambled as she wrung her hands together.

“I’m sorry for startling you, I had only just arrived,” Jon said, seeming completely unperturbed by her being in his private space.

“They said you would not be back until the morning.”

“I rode ahead,” Jon said, “I felt bad enough that I was not here to greet you and wanted to ensure that I was at least here to share breakfast with you in the morning.”

“Oh,” Sansa replied, not sure what else to say. He had come back early, from wherever he had been, for her. The thought both warmed her and made her anxious.

“Has the bleeding stopped?” Jon asked and Sansa held the lamp up once more.

“Nearly, though you have some blood still on your cheek,” Sansa took the cloth from his hand, “Here,” without meaning to she caught his eye, but quickly looked away, but she could see him watching her intently as she wiped the blood from his cheek with the cloth.

“Thank you,” He said, when she was finished.

Sansa nodded.

The silence was painful awkward as they considered each other. Sansa swallowed hard. They were to be wed in a matter of days, and yet they were strangers to each other. _Was he as nervous as she was?_ His face was unreadable. When Sansa had been a little girl, she had dreamed of falling in love and getting married and raising a family just as her father and mother had. Her father and mother had loved each other, but Sansa feared that they were exceptions to the rule. Love did not really exist for most people. Mr. Baratheon had not loved his wife, Uncle Petyr did not love Aunt Lysa, and neither Joffrey, nor Harry Hardying, nor Marillion had loved her. Love was for the songs. She and Jon would wed, not for love, but for practicality. It was an arrangement she could live with as long as she was treated fairly. Jon was giving her back her home, and that alone was enough. Sansa looked down at the floor.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” Jon asked, breaking the unbearable silence.

“My satisfaction?” Sansa repeated.

“Aye, do you need anything?” He asked.

“No, no,” Sansa looked down at the floor again, “You and everyone have been most kind, and I’m quite comfortable.”

Jon nodded, “Good.”

Sansa wrung her hands together, just as a large white wolf like dog walked through the door to join them. Jon’s mouth twitched in a smile as he caught sight of the creature.

“This is Ghost,” Jon said as the huge dog nudged at his hand.

Sansa held her hand out for the wolf to smell, “Hello, Ghost.”

Ghost licked her hand and came closer for a pat.

“Is he a wolf?” Sansa asked.

“I think maybe, or at least half wolf,” said Jon scratching his beard, “Found him when he was just a wee pup.”

Jon’s voice made her homesick for her family, for her father and Robb. Jon scratched Ghost behind the ears, “I was worried you might be frightened of him, Gilly was at first, but I swear he’s as gentle as a lamb, and good with children.”

Blushing slightly at his mention of children, Sansa knelt in front of Ghost to give him more attention, “He’s beautiful.”

Ghost nudged her shoulder, and Sansa chuckled.

“I think he and I will get along just fine,” Sansa assured Jon.

“Good, we would not want to upset the lady of the house on her first night,” Jon chuckled and patted Ghost.

Sansa stood, feeling her face flush at the implication of his words. She was to be the Lady of Winterfell… like her mother had been. Sansa felt her emotions threatening her again, but she did not want Jon to see. Tears were only for the cover of night, when no one else could see.

“We both best get some sleep, Mr. Snow, or we’ll be late for breakfast,” She said swiftly, trying to hide her flustered feelings.

“Aye,” He chuckled, “Though I don’t imagine they’d start without us.”

Sansa smiled, “Goodnight, Mr. Snow, once again I’m sorry about your nose.”

He waved off her concerned, “Goodnight Miss Stark.”

He turned to leave her chamber, but turned to face her once again, reaching into his pocket he produced a folded, bolt of delicate lace. He handed it to her, almost shyly.

“I saw this in a shop window… in Brussels when I was there last week,” Jon ran his hand through his hair, mussing the knot he had it tied back in, “I thought you might like it…”

He had bought her a gift simply because he thought of her. Sansa was not sure how to interpret this act. She inspected the lace, and her breathe caught in her chest. It was exquisite. Brussel’s lace. She could not ever remember owning something so fine, “Its beautiful.”

Jon shifted on his feet.

“I shall treasure it,” Sansa said reverently, the last gift she could remember receiving was a doll from her father not long before she had been left to the Baratheons.

“Well, if you like it well enough, we may be able to order more,” Jon chuckled.

She could not imagine how much a larger bolt would cost. Lace was an extravagance, and Brussel’s lace even more so… no, she would use this small bolt for something special, but she did not need more.

“Thank you,” Sansa said softly.

Jon nodded, his expression unreadable, “Goodnight Miss Stark.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Snow.”

He called Ghost to him, and the two departed her chamber, shutting the door behind them. Sansa laid the lace across her dressing table, running her fingers along the edges for a moment, as she gnawed on her lower lip. He had thought of her in Brussels. Sansa tried not to read to much into his act of kindness, tried to reign in her expectations. Her life was not a song, she had learned that long ago, and it was a lesson she was not apt to forget quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon POV


	4. The Lost Boy (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is our peek into Jon's world. I hope your curiosity is piqued and that you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments!

“How did you bloody your nose?” Samwell Tarly asked with a chuckle after seeing the light bruise on Jon’s nose and Jon informing him that he had bloodied it, “Do you need me to check and see if it’s broken?”

“I walked into an opening door last night,” Jon said evasively, “And no, I think I would know if my nose was broken.”

Sam gave him a puzzled look, as Jon knew he would, and asked, “How did you walk into an opening door?”

Jon was not sure how to respond, knowing that his late-night encounter with Sansa Stark would not be considered entirely proper, as they were not yet wed. Jon, though, had known Sam for many years.

“Miss Stark was opening the door and I walked into it,” Jon said simply.

Sam chuckled, obviously amused and Jon shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the breakfast table, “She’s been here less than twenty-four hours and calamity has already befallen you,” Sam teased.

Jon rolled his eyes. Sam knew that Jon had been hesitant to send for Sansa and Sam had accused him of being scared to give up his bachelor’s life. That had been when Jon was still trying to make his decision… before he had met Petyr Baelish by accident at a dinner hosted by one of Jon’s clientele.

“Have you met her yet?” Jon asked his friend. He and Sam had been in the army together, Sam as an assistant to their physician and Jon as a soldier.

“I have not,” Sam said, “But Gilly tells me that she seems quite nice and polite. Did you not speak to her after you walked into the door she was opening?” Sam pressed, his eyes still twinkling in amusement at Jon’s obvious discomfort.

“We spoke,” Jon said.

“And?”

“She seemed quite nice and polite,” Jon replied as he flicked open his newspaper, not caring to elaborate on the fact that she was prettier than he could have imagined and sweet…

Sam rolled his eyes, “If you were as communicative with her as you are with me, she probably thinks you are a moody arse.”

Jon laughed and shook his head, “Thank you, Sam.”

“You said you got in late last night, how did you manage to cross paths with her?” Sam asked with a curious grin.

“She was in our study,” Jon said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Sam still looked confused, “Then how did you walk into the door?”

“Is this the bloody inquisition?” Jon grumbled, “This estate belonged to her father, her childhood home, I’m sure she was just becoming reacquainted with the old place, the least we could do is give her the dignity not to pry,” Jon said firmly. It had never set well with him that he had inherited the estate instead of Ned Stark’s last remaining child, but the estate had been left to Ned Stark in such a way that prevented him from passing it to a female heir, and the same law prevented Jon from merely giving the estate to Sansa. Marrying her had been the only solution he had been able to contrive to rectify the inequity of the law. He could give her back her father’s home by giving her his hand in marriage, and then the estate would remain in the hands of Ned Stark’s grandchildren, should they have children. Jon felt his insides twist at the thought of children. _Would Sansa be amenable to children?_ He did not know. Sighing deeply, Jon knew he and Sansa had much to learn about each other. Jon had grown accustom to the idea that he would not marry and had never imagined he would wed such a high born lady, and yet here he was, a lord in his own right, days away from marrying Ned Stark’s daughter. Jon was not sure it was possible to love again, but he prayed that he and Sansa might at least find some measure of peace with each other.

“You are doing the best you can for her.” Sam said quietly, as if he knew the turn of Jon’s dark thoughts.

“Am I?” Jon asked, “Then why do I still feel like a thief?”

“You did not set out to be her father’s heir, and you are not responsible for her family’s death,” Sam said.

“No,” Jon agreed, but the feeling of guilt rarely left him. He put his paper down on the table, and ran his hands through his hair, “I was fourteen when I found out that I would inherit Winterfell… Ned Stark even found me and came for a visit. The man had just lost a son, a daughter and his wife and still, he shook my hand and invited me to Winterfell, like I was one of them, like I was a Stark.”

“Did you go?”

“No,” Jon said, “Ned got orders shortly thereafter and was off to the continent, and all I know is he took Sansa, who had been quite young, ten maybe, to the south and neither of them ever came back.”

“Do you think Ned meant to propose a marriage between the two of you?” Sam asked, his amusement replaced by a caring curiosity.

“Sansa was a little girl, and I was fourteen,” Jon explained, “I have no idea what Ned Stark had in mind…” Jon paused, “A part of me wished that he was going to take me to live at Winterfell with him… to get me away from… from everything…”

Sam nodded in understanding.

“But then Ned Stark died, and I was still too young to move here on my own,” Jon continued, “And so I continued being nothing but a shadow on the wall in the homes of one relative or another, and then as you know, I was forced into the military.”

“After?” Sam clarified.

“Aye, after her…” Jon’s voice trailed off.

“You are too hard on yourself, Jon,” said Sam. Sam Tarly was the only one who truly knew Jon’s past.

Both men looked up to the sound of footsteps, and Jon caught sight of Sansa’s redhead as she peeked around the corner of the breakfast room, only to retreat again. She looked hesitant, unsure, as if she was not certain that she was welcome to join them… that she was wanted. Jon knew the look all too well. She appeared around the corner once more, her shoulders squared and her eyes like ice, and Jon admired her courage.

“Good morning, Mr. Snow,” Sansa said congenially and without a tremor. Both men stood to their feet to greet her.

“Good morning, Miss Stark,” Jon gave her a slight bow, and motioned toward Sam, “This is Samwell Tarly, I believe you met his wife, Gilly Tarly, last night.”

Sansa curtsied politely, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tarly, I am happy to know both you and your wife.”

She was painfully polite and precise, Jon noted. Petyr Baelish had spoken rather unfairly of her, but Jon did not put much stock in the words of men like Petyr Baelish.

“Did you sleep well?” Jon asked as he pulled a chair out for her beside him at the breakfast table.

“Yes, thank you,” Sansa sat down and looked dreadfully uncomfortable, and Jon shifted in his seat. He had never had the graceful manners that put people at ease. For years he blamed his upbringing for that, but as a grown man, he felt he had no excuse to have not cultivated the genteel manners of a gentleman.

“Sansa!” the awkward silence was broken by Gilly’s cheerful voice as she re-entered the room with Little Sam on her hip. Gilly approached Sam and passed him the infant in her arms, “His nappy is all clean, and he is ready for food.”

Sansa smiled, a rather pretty smile Jon thought, as she watched the little family interact.

“Is the wedding tomorrow?” Sam suddenly blurted out, and the smile disappeared from Sansa’s face, and she turned quite red. Jon nearly choked on his tea.

“Samwell Tarly, that is an impertinent question, especially seeing as Sansa and Jon have hardly had a moment to discuss their plans!” Gilly scolded, and in a huff, moved to sit down next to Sansa. Sam had the good grace to blush and turn his attention to feeding Little Sam.

Jon cleared his throat and tried to give Sansa a reassuring smile, “Yes, Miss Stark and I have much to discuss.”

* * *

Jon was thankful he had invited Sam and Gilly to breakfast this morning, as they provided the bulk of the conversation. Sansa was quiet and only picked at her food. When the dishes were finally being cleared away, Jon knew that he and Sansa had to discuss their impending wedding.

“Miss Stark,” Jon started, standing from his chair and shoving down his nerves, “might you take a turn with me in the garden?”

Sansa stood, and Gilly gave her an encouraging smile, “Yes, thank you Mr. Snow.”

Remembering at the last moment to offer her his arm, he led her outdoors with Gilly and Sam following a respectful distance away in order to give them privacy. They were quiet for awhile as they walked, but Jon noted how Sansa’s eyes drank in her surroundings. He wondered if she knew that she had very expressive eyes… and they were the bluest he had ever seen.

“Everything is so familiar,” Sansa said softly, as she ran her hand along some of the bushes.

Jon smiled, “I’ve tried not to make unnecessary changes to the estate, I always thought it was quite lovely just the way that it was.”

Sansa smiled sadly but said nothing.

“I…I want you to know, Miss Stark,” Jon started, “I’ll not force you into this marriage, you are free to do as you will.”

“This marriage is very practical, Mr. Snow… and a very generous offer…” She said softly, not looking at him, “And… and I don’t imagine my aunt would have me back…”

“You could live here,” Jon suggested but even as the words left his mouth, he knew it would not do.

“I don’t know how much you know about me, Mr. Snow, but I’m afraid my reputation would not survive living alone with a man who is not my husband,” Sansa said with a gentle sorrow to her voice, “And what would you do with me, should you fall in love and marry elsewhere?”

Jon wanted to tell her that was not likely to happen, but no words would come out of his mouth, except for a question, “Do you not have anyone… anyone that you might marry for love?”

“Do you?” She turned the question back around on him.

“No,” Jon said honestly.

“Love is a fleeting thing, Mr. Snow, stability and protection are much more lasting and much more important.”

Jon considered her for a moment, “Then stability and protection I can give you, I promise.”

Sansa nodded, but looked as though she did not quite believe him, “Then if you are amenable to the plan, I suggest we proceed.”

“Aye, I’m amenable,” Jon said, looking off into the pastures on the other side of the garden.

“And… and…” Sansa stammered, looking down at the ground, “My father’s grandchildren will inherit the estate…”

Jon took a breath, wondering if she had thought through, or even knew, how those grandchildren would be begotten, “Aye,” he finally said, “The estate won’t be passed to some stranger who should not have rights to it at all,” their eyes met for a moment, but she seemed unable to hold his gaze.

“It is settled then,” She said, sounding as if she was concluding a business transaction, “It need not be a large ceremony, just a minister, and ourselves, and perhaps Gilly and Sam as witness?”   
“Aye, that can be arranged.”

She nodded, “Thank you, Mr. Snow, truly.”

Jon smiled at her, sad that she felt it necessary to thank him for their odd arrangement.

“Tomorrow then?” she asked.

And he agreed, “Tomorrow.”

* * *

Sansa spent the majority of the day in her chambers, and Jon fretted around the estate in nervous fidgets. Having been gone on business for several weeks, he had matters to attend with which he could at least occupy his mind. He needed activity and distraction… which is what drove him to the barns to inspect the sheep with Davos trailing behind him.

“You know, no one would think less of you, if you needed to take a day off and prepare,” Davos said.

“There’s work that needs doing, Davos,” said Jon, entering the barn to the sound of sheep bleating.

“You pay people to take care of the sheep, Jon,” Davos chuckled, “For that matter you pay me, to make sure that the people you pay take care of the sheep. I think they’ll manage.”

“But of what good am I, if I do not take an active role in the running of the estate?”

Davos scratched his beard and chuckled again, “I do not think anyone here doubts that you take an active role in the management and care of the estate.”

Jon paused for a moment, not able to look at Davos, “I need something to occupy my mind.”

“I think you need to rest, before you drive yourself into an early grave.”

“I’m getting married tomorrow, Davos,” Jon said, as if the older man did not know.

“Aye, I am aware,” Davos clapped him on the shoulder, and came to his side looking grave, “I do have a concern for your sweet bride.”

“Oh?” Jon turned to face Davos; the older man’s words always carried great weight with Jon. When Jon had first taken over the estate, he had endeavored to surround himself with wise men who could help him learn to manage the large business and land holdings, men who could teach him how to be a lord. Davos had been such a man. Jon would be lost without him.

“Miss Stark only arrived with one trunk,” Davos said simply.

Jon frowned, “Only one?”

“I know you have not told me much about her life prior to coming here, perhaps you do not know her circumstances either,” Davos continued, “But one rather small trunk for a lady’s dresses seems rather inadequate.”

“I do not know much about the Baelish’s, but I do know that Miss Stark was not favorably treated,” Jon said running a hand through his hair.

“Perhaps neglected?” Davos suggested, “I’m not saying that a lady must have scores of dresses, but that trunk could not have held more than a handful, in addition to her other belongings.”

Jon nodded.

“If she was unfavorably treated, she is not likely to ask you for what she needs,” Davos said.

“Do you think I should ask her?” Jon felt out of his depth.

“Perhaps send a seamstress to her, or have Gilly take her to town,” Davos suggested, “I got the impression that a young lady like Miss Stark is not likely to let on that she has needs at all.”

Jon rubbed his eyes, “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing Davos.”

Davos clapped him on the shoulder again, “You will learn, just like you have learned to run this estate.”

“I don’t know anything about being a good husband… or… or a father…” Jon confessed brokenly. His childhood had not been a happy one.

“No one is born knowing such things,” Davos said, “We simply must do the best we can.”

Jon nodded.

“Well, I’ll leave you to inspect the sheep,” Davos chuckled, “And I’ll have one of the maids draw you a bath for when you inevitably come inside smelling of the barn.”

Jon snorted, but smiled, and Davos left him to brood alone in the barn. Tomorrow he would be a married man. He was not sure what life had in store for him and Sansa, but he could at least promise to be a kind and faithful husband to her… perhaps, for now, that was enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: The wedding


	5. The Little Bird (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for such lovely and insightful comments! You have absolutely made this story so much fun to write, and you keep me motivated to keep going!
> 
> The Poem Sansa sings is called "My Heart's in the Highlands," by Robert Burns written in 1789. If you wish to hear the song, I recommend "My Heart's in the Highlands" by Pur which is what I listened to for inspiration for this scene.

Dawn drew Sansa outside to lose herself in the wild purple heather. Watching the sunrise, Sansa tried to remember if she ever played in the heather as a child… tried to remember what it was to be of the North… to be Scottish. When she walked by the kitchens, she had overheard the kitchen staff speaking Gaelic, and try as she might she could not remember her father’s tongue. She felt like less a Stark for it and hated that the South had so plundered her identity. Laying back and disappearing in the tall heather, Sansa looked up at the brightening sky, the world was golden and aglow with the morning sunlight.

“My heart’s in the highlands, my heart is not here, my heart’s in the highlands a-chasing the deer,” Sansa hummed the poem by Robert Burns that she had stumbled upon a few years ago. The poem had brought her home time and time again, when she lived with the Baratheons and again when the poem followed her to her Aunt Lysa’s, “A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe, my heart’s in the highlands wherever I go…”

“Robert Burns is a credit to us,” a voice said, and Sansa sat up quite startled having not heard anyone approach. Jon was standing there in a loose white tunic and trousers, looking much more at ease then he had yesterday in his stiff suit.

“Mr. Snow!” Sansa stood abruptly, and tried to hide the fact that the morning dew had dampened her dress, “I’m sorry you startled me…I did not… I did not expect anyone else to be up so early.”

“We seem to have a penchant for catching the other off guard,” Jon chuckled, “I would not have known you were laying there in the heather had you not started to sing.”

Sansa felt her face flush and began to fidget with her hair, she was certain she looked affright. She had only pulled her hair into a loose braid, and her dress was old and in disrepair, and now wet from the dew. Jon studied her with a sort of tender curiosity. She wondered, not for the first time since they met, what he thought of her.

“It’s fitting though,” Jon said looking off into the distance, as the molten gold of sunlight spread across the field of purple heather.

“Fitting?” Sansa asked.

“You look like a proper highland princess, what with your red hair, laying among the heather, and singing Robert Burns,” Jon said.   
Sansa blushed and he chuckled and looked down at the ground.

“I know I’m not the best with my words,” He said with a self-deprecating smile. Sansa wanted to tell him that was the nicest thing anyone had said about her in years, but the words would not come out of her mouth.

“Might I escort you back to the house?” Jon offered, “That is if you were headed that way.”

Sansa looked at him, “It’s bad luck is it not, to see the bride before the wedding?”

“Aye, but I don’t think we need worry over that,” Jon said, “You’ve red hair, means you’re lucky.”

Sansa giggled, “I was under the impression that it meant quite the opposite.”

“An old wives’ tale truly,” Jon grinned.

She wanted to laugh, but his words only served to make her sad. She had been anything but lucky… perhaps until now.

Jon whistled for Ghost and they turned and walked toward the house.

“Does he not try and wonder off?” Sansa asked, as Ghost came barreling toward them.

“No,” Jon said, “He’s much to spoilt for that.”

Sansa smiled as the big dog came to her and nudged her hand, “He’s a dear.”

“I can already see that you will spoil him further,” Jon laughed.

“Yes, I’m apt too,” Sansa agreed, giving Ghost a pat as they walked.

“Another doting human is just what he needs,” Jon teased.

“Why’d you name him Ghost?” Sansa asked curiously, wanting to keep the tone of their conversation light.

“Because he’s white,” Jon said simply, and Sansa could not help but laugh.

“I suppose all traditionally minded ghostly apparitions are white,” Sansa said with a teasing logic, and Jon smiled that little half smile at her, that half smile that she was beginning to recognize as distinctly his.

“Aye,” Jon agreed.

They fell into silence once more, and part of Sansa wanted to ask him why he wished to marry her, why he had sent for a total stranger and offered her his hand in marriage. She worried that he did not know of all the rumors and gossip surrounding her, and feared the day when he learned that her reputation had been tarnished beyond repair, for what did a young penniless woman have if not her honor and her reputation? She wondered if she should tell him before she trapped him in this marriage.

“Mr. Snow…” Sansa began tentatively.

“We’re to be wed today, Miss Stark, please call me Jon,” He said kindly.

She nodded, “Then you must call me Sansa.”

“Aye, I think I can manage that.”

“Jon…”

“Yes, Sansa?”

“I…” Sansa stammered.

“There you both are!” Sam exclaimed as he trudged up to them from the house.

Sansa and Jon exchanged a look, but Sansa had missed her moment to tell him the truth. Would he come to hate her for never telling him about Hardying’s lies and Marillion’s misconduct?

“Its bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Sam tutted at Jon.

“It’s not,” Jon insisted, with a grin at her.

“Miss Stark, Gilly has ordered a bath for you and I’ll make sure this brute has one as well,” Sam assured.

Sansa laughed softly and was surprised when she felt Jon’s fingertips brush hers.

“I’ll see you later,” He said.

All Sansa could say was, “Yes.”

* * *

Sansa donned a practical dress, as she only had practical dresses, but she draped the bolt of Brussel’s lace over her slight shoulders like a shawl, hoping it would please her soon to be husband. She was not sure what to make of Jon Snow. He seemed kind enough, but Harry Hardying had been kind to her in the beginning as well. Attempting to banish those thoughts from her mind, Sansa continued to prepare herself for her wedding that afternoon. There came a knock on her door.

“Come in,” Sansa said in a small voice, but was pleased to see Gilly walk into the room. She was carrying a small bouquet of flowers.

“I took the liberty of bringing these up,” Gilly said holding the sweet bouquet, and chuckled, “Jon and I picked them out.”

Sansa smiled, somewhat amused, “You and Jon?”

“Yes, he made mention that the last wedding he went to that the bride carried flowers,” Gilly laughed, “And seemed somewhat distraught that he had not had time to think of such details, though he’d never say such a thing.”

Sansa was not sure how to respond, but she took the bouquet.

“I suggested to him that we select some flowers from the hot house,” said Gilly, “Hopefully it put his mind at ease.”

“They’re lovely, thank you,” Sansa said, trying to imagine Jon’s somber face fretting over flowers.

“He worries too much,” Gilly said as she picked up a brush and began to brush Sansa’s hair, “I hope you will be able to help him with that, so that he does not go grey headed before he’s even reached his twenty-fifth birthday.”

Gilly continued to run the brush through her hair. No one had brushed Sansa’s hair for her since she was a little girl in this very room.

“You’ve known him a long time?” Sansa asked curiously, as she brought the bouquet to her nose and smelled them.

“I reckon about four years now,” said Gilly, as she began to delicately style Sansa’s hair, “Met him very near when Sam and I were married. Sam had left the army, but they kept in touch, as they had been barely more than boys when they took to soldiering,” Gilly explained, “Jon came to see us once when he was on leave, and that’s how I met him.”

“Is Jon still in the army?” Sansa asked in concern, thinking of her father who had died on the continent. She did not wish to be a widow before she was barely wed.

“No, he got hurt and left the army about two years ago, deciding to devote his energies to running the estate and the business,” Gilly said, and Sansa breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“I’m glad,” Sansa said but did not elaborate. Gilly seemed to understand. When she was finished with Sansa’s hair, Gilly appraised her work, making a small smile tug at the corners of Sansa’s mouth, “Do I look presentable enough for a bride?”

“Aye,” Gilly grinned, setting the brush and pins aside, “You’re lovely.”

“Thank you, Gilly,” Sansa stood and straightened her skirts.

“I don’t mean to be impertinent….” Gilly started then paused, and Sansa turned to study her newfound friend.

“I don’t believe you capable of impertinence,” Sansa assured her giving her hand a squeeze.

Gilly squeezed Sansa’s hand, “Have you… have you any questions… about tonight, I mean?”

Sansa felt her face flush bright red, she had tried not to spend much time thinking about the activities of the night, “I’m not quite so innocent as I once was, sadly,” said Sansa, thinking of Hardying’s wearying advances and Marillion’s grasping hands and Uncle Petyr’s leering eyes.

“Still, should you have any fears…” Gilly seemed to search for the right words, “What I mean to say is, if you feel the need to talk, I am here to listen.”

“Thank you, Gilly.”

For all her fine words, Sansa was not sure what to expect of Jon Snow today and wondered what exactly she was getting herself into… marrying a perfect stranger. _Home_. He brought her home and she would have a home of her own. _That was enough, wasn’t it?_

“I remember when… when my father went to visit Jon for the first time,” Sansa said softly as she stroked her fingers along the elegant lace on her arm.

“Oh?”

“I remember him saying that Mr. Snow was a ‘fine lad,’” Sansa said with a soft smile, and she only hoped that her father’s first impression had followed Jon Snow into manhood, “I did not want to believe him then, my brother had just died and nothing seemed fair….” Little did she know how unfair her life would become following the death of her father. She would not feel sorry for herself, though, she had not felt sorry for herself in many years. This was simply the way life was.

Gilly gave her gentle smile, “He is a fine lad.”

Sansa chuckled, at Gilly’s characterization of Jon Snow, “He’s a man now.”

“Aye, a man,” Gilly said with a laugh, “A good man, though maybe not as jovial as my Sam, but good and kind.”

Sansa looked down at her hands. Her father had once promised that she would wed someone brave and gentle and strong. When she had been a little girl those did not seem so very important… they did now.

* * *

The wedding was small, attended and witnessed by Sam, Davos, and Gilly, and felt almost a sham as she and Jon promised to love each other, when neither had entered this union for love’s sake. Jon held her hand in his, with his thumb occasionally brushing the back of her knuckles as if to reassure her. She had never gotten to tell him about Harry or Marillion and prayed he would not come to resent her for not telling him. She wished that Harry’s lies could not touch her here, but she knew better than anyone how fast gossip could spread. When they were done saying their vows, the minister pronounced them man and wife, and Jon leaned down and pressed the softest of kisses to her lips. It was just a brush of his lips against hers. Their eyes met. He was her husband now… for better or worse. Sansa took a deep breath, once again unsure. She had just tied herself to a perfect stranger, all for her home. Had she done the right thing?

Cook had prepared quite a feast for the five of them. Sansa felt like she was watching herself from somewhere far away. She did not feel like a married woman, and in fact she did not feel like this was her life at all. She laughed and smiled and tried to be congenial with the kind strangers who had invited her, without question, into their obviously tight knit circle. She had never met people so genuine and unassuming. Jon and Davos and Sam shared stories full of laughter about their days in the army, though Sansa could sense that there were far fewer stories of laughter than the three of them let the two women see or believe. Sansa, having always been perceptive, had seen a shift in Jon’s countenance when they began to speak about the military and the wars on the continent. She wondered if he would grow to confide in her one day, but immediately banished those thoughts away. Theirs was not a marriage for love and she knew she had to remember that… there was just enough of her romantic soul buried deep within her heart that some parts of her still wished for love, but she knew love was from songs and stories and not made for real life.

The evening waned and Sansa found that in spite of the beautiful feast, she had eaten very little and Jon kept stealing worried glances at her. Finally, Gilly and Sam and Davos took their leave, leaving Jon and Sansa alone in the house. They stared at each other in the entry way, after ushering their guests outside.

“Sam, and Gilly, and Davos are lovely,” Sansa said, breaking the awkward silence that had fall between them.

“Aye, they’re dear friends,” said Jon, “I think I would be quite lost without them.”

“I’ve known very few true friends,” Sansa confessed, trying to be genuine in the way they all had been at dinner.

“Well, now you have four,” Jon said seriously. _Four_. He had included himself in that number. _Should they never find love? Could they at least be friends?_

“I hope, then, that they may also find true friendship in me,” Sansa offered. Jon gave her that kind half-smile of his.

They turned toward the staircase together and climbed them in silence. When they stood in front of Jon’s bedroom door, Sansa began to wring her hands together.

“I am going to ready myself for bed,” She said, not able to look at him.

Jon nodded, “Aye.”

Sansa could only nod and make a hasty escape from his intense eyes… eyes that she wondered if they could see right through her. His kindness had kept her off-balance. She was not sure what to expect from him. Stealing quickly into her room, Sansa shut the door and leaned her head against it for a moment, before squaring her shoulders and resolving to be brave. Quickly, she changed into her night gown and robe and released her hair from the pins and ribbons that Gilly had so lovingly placed. Brushing her hair out, Sansa anxiously awaited a knock on her door. Gilly’s kindness, as much as Jon’s, had kept her unsure. Mrs. Baratheon used to call her “Little dove” as if she was a creature to be kept in a cage, and Aunt Lysa’s slaps and cruel words were never far from her mind. Having another woman’s friendship felt perilous, but Gilly seemed genuine in her kindness, and Sansa had yet to determine if she could let her thick armor fall for the sake of having a friend.

When she was finished brushing her hair, Sansa sat on the edge of her bed staring hard at the door leading to Jon’s adjoining study and waited… and waited… and waited. Surely, it would not have taken him long to prepare himself for bed. Did he expect her to come to him? Was he as unsure as she? Growing cold, Sansa drew her feet up underneath her and crawled under the covers and waited… and waited… and waited. Surely over an hour had passed. Had Jon fallen asleep? Perhaps she should roll over and let sleep claim her as well. But did they not have a final duty to perform to make this marriage true? Jon had given her a home, and all she could give him in return was children, though the thought was somewhat alarming... her mind drifting to Harry and Marillion once more. After another hour of tossing and turning in bed, plagued by uncertainty, Sansa finally rose from her bed, taking a few breaths. She was not sure whether she should be relieved or offended that he had not yet appeared, but she could be brave. Tightening her robe around her, Sansa opened the door to his study and quietly padded across the room to Jon’s chamber door. She raised her fist to knock and lowered it again. _Perhaps he did not want her_? Sansa, though, she was a maiden still, was not a total innocent. She knew that love and affection were not requirements to perform the act. Stealing her resolve and raising her fist once more, Sansa knocked on Jon’s chamber door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon and Sansa spend an unusual night together


	6. Chocolate Cake (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon get to know each other a little better. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

The knock on his door surprised him, as there was only person who would be knocking on that particular door. He was already abed going over the business ledgers by lamplight, having expected Sansa to go straight to bed after their long day. He had no intentions of bedding a total stranger, let alone one who had been mistreated by men in the past. Jon still cringed when he thought of Petyr Baelish’s lecherous voice when he spoke of Sansa.

“Come in,” Jon called trying to keep his voice even and calm. Sansa opened the door and stepped through. She was in the long white nightshift she had worn the night before and was once again barefoot. He wondered if her feet were cold. Unlike last night, however, she had her fiery red hair loose, cascading down her back, and Jon had the errant thought that he might like to run his fingers through it.

“Sansa,” Jon greeted, offering her a smile though he could not surmise what she was doing in his room.

“Jon,” She looked up at him.

“Have you a need?” He asked.

“Um…I… no…” Sansa stammered, “I thought…”

She stood there looking so shy and uncertain that Jon did not know how to respond. Pulling back the bed covers in silent invitation, he watched as she padded hesitantly over to the big bed and crawled up beside him. Her cold toes brushed against his leg and he flinched.

“Sorry,” She murmured.

Jon smiled, “It’s alright.”

The tension was palpable, and Jon was suddenly not entirely sure how they had gotten into this odd position. He was not particularly shy, even in his state of undress, being only in his own night clothes, but he had never shared a bed with anyone before, not even when he had been growing up with his half-brother Aegon. Ghost moved from in front of the hearth and came to Sansa in greeting. Jon smiled, glad that at least Ghost knew his role in this awkward dance. Sansa did not meet Jon’s eyes and she looked as skittish as a doe.

“I’m… I’m…” She could not seem to form the words she wanted, “I do not know how to proceed.”

Nearly choking on surprise, Jon ran a hand through his hair, “Sansa…” he started, not sure how to proceed should they go in either direction.

“I was not sure if you would come to me or if I was expected to come to you,” She explained.

“I suppose the door swings both ways,” Jon said gruffly, “But, Sansa, I imagined we might like to get to know each other a bit better before that…”

“Oh,” Her face flushed as red as her hair and she started to get up obviously embarrassed. He had not meant to embarrass her.

“Wait,” Jon caught her little hand, “I did not mean that you had to leave, just that we need not rush things… We can talk… if you like…”

“Oh,” Sansa repeated, halting her retreat, and pulling her feet back under the covers. She looked down at her hands, “…I know love is not required for… for that…” she whispered in explanation.

 _No, but love makes it better_ , Jon wanted to say but did not for fear that they would not find love in each other. Jon looked at her wide eyes and wondered who it was that told her, or worse yet, who taught her that love was not required. The thought made his weary heart sad. Her fingers clutched the blanket, and Jon touched them gently. She loosened her grip and gave him a kind smile.

“What are you reading?” She asked curiously.

Jon showed her the business ledger he had been reviewing, and to his surprise she started to laugh. It was a merry, twinkling sound that caused him to smile.

“It’s your wedding night, Jon,” She said with a soft blush, “And you are going over the ledgers.”

“And what should I be reading?” Jon asked, enjoying seeing her genuine smiles.

“I don’t know,” She giggled, “Just not the ledger.”

Jon grinned at her.

“Gilly says you worry too much about such things,” Sansa informed him.

“Does she now?” Jon chuckled and turned to face his furiously blushing bride.

Sansa nodded.

“Perhaps you can help me find a book?” He suggested and stood.

“Now?” She asked in alarm as he lit a lamp.

“Yes, come,” He came around to her side of the bed and offered her his hand, and she took it with a tentative smile.

Hand in hand they crept down the stairs toward the library.

“I would hate to wake the staff,” Sansa said, and Jon felt his heart melt a little bit at her kindness.

“We’ll be quiet,” He assured. Keeping hold of Sansa’s hand, they made their way to the library. When they opened the door, Sansa looked quite shaken, as she stared at the big room. Jon wondered, not for the first time, what she was thinking. He could only imagine that she saw herself and her siblings wandering the halls of Winterfell, back when life was happy for her.

“What shall we read?” Jon asked, releasing her hand. Sansa ran her hand along the book spines and said very little as she perused the titles. They were mostly the same books of her childhood; Jon knew as he had added very little to the library.

“Shakespeare?” She looked over at him, and he shook his head. He was not one for poetry.

“Have you any Sir Walter Scott?” She asked.

“No,” said he and she continued to walk along the shelves, touching the books with a sort of reverence. She pulled a volume from one of the shelves.

“Le Morte d’Arthur,” She whispered, “by Sir Thomas Mallory.”

“As classic as Shakespeare?” Jon chuckled, “I’ve not read it.”

Sansa handed him the book, and as she did her stomach growled between them.

He looked down at her stomach, “You hardly ate at dinner.”

“I am fine,” She said demurely.

“It would not do for my bride to go hungry on her wedding night,” said Jon, and tucking the book into the pocket of his robe, he took her hand once more and gave her a gentle tug.

The halls were dark and lonely as they made their way down to the kitchens. They had to be a little quieter, as they were closer now to the staff chambers.

“We’ll wake cook,” Sansa protested in a whisper.

“No, she can’t hear us all the way at the other end of the hall,” Jon sat his lamp down and opened a cabinet door.

“What shall it be, my lady? Bread and cheese or chocolate cake?” He asked.

Sansa giggled, “Chocolate cake.”

“I do believe this is part of our wedding cake,” Jon said as he sliced a rather large slice of cake to share between them, “Would you care for milk or tea?”

“Milk will do quite well,” Sansa said with a soft, amused smile as she watched him collect their goods onto a breakfast tray. Once all was settled, he motioned for her to follow him.

Sansa followed behind him as he headed up the stairs. She was still obviously unsure what to make of Jon’s late-night raid on the kitchen. He was not going to tell her that he had the habit of wandering about the castle when he could not sleep. The one time Cook had actually caught him in the kitchen, he had feared he had scared her near to her death… ever since then she had left him easily accessible food in a cupboard so that he did not disturb her highly organized larders. The staff had grown accustom to his restlessness. Jon did not sleep easy, and he was not sure if it was his days in the military or the ghosts of the past that so haunted him. When they reached Jon’s chamber door, he opened it and motioned for Sansa to go inside. She ducked her head shyly and entered. She paused before the bed once more, and Jon gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“We’ve come this far,” he said, and she nodded and clamored up onto the bed. Jon caught a look at her bare leg as she did, and he tried not to stare. Jon settled the tray between them, and they sat and picked at their cake and drank their milk. They were quiet for a bit.

“I can’t imagine its easy for you, being here again… without… without your family…” Jon finally said.

She met his eyes for a moment, “It feels like it was another lifetime ago…”

“You were young?” He asked, though he knew she had been.

“Yes, ten years…” said Sansa, “The fever took Arya first… then mother…. then…then Robb.”

“Then your life changed forever,” Jon whispered, and she nodded not looking at him.

“Then after father died, I did not think I would ever come home,” She confessed.

Jon felt that familiar pang of guilt in his gut.

“He died on the continent, didn’t he?” Jon asked, trying to be delicate.

She nodded, “Gilly tells me you were in the Army.”

Jon shifted uncomfortably, “Gilly has told you a lot about me…” He chuckled.

“Only that you were in the army, that you were hurt, and now you are not,” Sansa explained.

“The army was my family’s choice for me,” Jon said, trying not to sound bitter, but he had been for quite a few years. He thought he was long past that bitterness but every so often it still crept up inside him.

“You did not want to be in the army?” She asked with soft, curiosity.

“I did not know what I wanted,” Jon said gruffly, “I was seventeen, barely a man…”

“What happened?” She probed with a gentleness that almost stung. He did not want to talk about why he had been forced into the army… he did not want to talk about _her_ …

“It’s a rather melancholy tale,” Jon evaded.

“I suppose both our lives are filled with melancholy tales,” Sansa said, and their eyes met.

“Aye, I suppose they are,” Jon agreed, and reached up to wipe a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. She blushed prettily.

“Did you grow up near Winterfell?” Sansa asked.

Jon sighed, “Another melancholy tale.”

“I’m sorry…” She started to apologize.

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Jon assured her, “I grew up closer to Edinburgh for most of my youth, but I was rarely in once place for long.”

Sansa listened with rapt attention.

“You see my mother was the second wife of my father, and when first my mother died giving birth to me my father resented my presence and so I became something of a shadow of my half-brother Aegon, who is not much my senior,” Jon explained taking a deep breath, “My father wanted my mother, he had no need for a second son.”

Sansa’s eyes were sad.

“Then my father died,” Jon said, “And Aegon was sent to live with his mother’s relatives until he could inherit my father’s estate, but they would have naught to do with me, and so I was passed around between my relations, never staying in one home for long. None of them really cared what I did until I became the heir of Winterfell, and had some fortune to my name…”

Jon looked down when he felt Sansa’s finger’s softly brush his hand.

“When your father came to visit me, I don’t know if you recall,” Jon said and she nodded, “I had hoped he would bring me back here to live, so that I could get away from it all…”

“Then he died…” Sansa supplied the ending to his boyish hopes.

“Aye, then he died…” Jon said, and they looked at each other.

“Setting both our lives off course it would seem…” Sansa whispered, “When I lived with the Baratheons, I used to imagine what my life would have been like if father had lived… and then as the years passed, I began to struggle to even recall what father looked like, or Winterfell, and it seemed that the south had robbed me of not only my family but of Scotland as well.”

“You are still of Scotland,” Jon gave her hand a squeeze.

“And I am still an orphan,” Sansa said, and they stared at each other.

They were orphans both, and Jon felt in that moment that they shared a certain kinship.

“This is good cake,” Sansa said, suddenly changing the subject, as she nibbled on another bite of cake.

Jon chuckled, “Aye, Cook knows her cakes.”

“My mother used to say I had a sweet tooth,” Sansa giggled as she laid her head back on the pillows.

“For chocolate cake?” Jon asked with a laugh as he lay back on the pillows beside her.

“For lemon cakes,” said Sansa.

“Maybe I shall ask Cook if she can make a lemon cake.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Sansa was quick to say, “I know lemons are hard to come by…”

“I cannot think of a better use for lemons,” Jon smiled at her, just before he yawned.

“You’re tired,” Sansa said and started to sit up.

“No,” Jon lied, then grinned at her, “We haven’t even begun to read the story yet.”

“Are you going to read it to me?” Sansa asked, and had it been anyone more practiced Jon would have thought her flirting, but her smile was painfully sweet and genuine.

“Aye,” Jon said and picked up the book. Sansa settled back into the pillows and studied him as he read, until she fell asleep.

* * *

Jon woke, momentarily forgetting the events of the night before until he realized he had his leg and arm slung over a small body at his side. Turning his head, he saw Sansa sleeping peacefully beside him. Slowly, not wishing to wake her, he began to move his limbs, but it was too late. Her eyes fluttered open, she blinked a few times, before focusing on him. Jon was not sure whether to move or lay still as if them waking together was normal. He had never woken up beside someone before, and he could tell by the look on her face that she was more than a little alarmed to wake and find him nearly atop her.

“Good morning,” Jon greeted, shifting so that he was not pressed up against her so intimately.

“I’m sorry I did not mean to fall asleep here last night,” Sansa said quickly and hurriedly moved out of his embrace and sat up. Jon felt a little bereft at losing her warmth, though he brushed the thought aside.

“It’s alright, we fell asleep reading,” Jon sat up, “And I’m sorry, I must have turned in my sleep.”

She looked as uncomfortable as he felt. The strange magic and peace of the night before had vanished with the morning light. Looking at the remnants of their late night, Jon smiled. Eating chocolate cake in bed in the middle of the night may not have been proper, but Jon thought perhaps that the sweet moments of the night before were a good sign for their marriage.

“Shall we call down for breakfast?” Jon offered, leaning back against the pillows hoping to put her at ease, and recover the familiarity of the night before that he felt slipping away.

“No, no, I would not want to impose on your morning.”

“There is no imposition,” Jon said.

She did not look like she believed him, and she started to get up. Jon reached up to touch her, hoping to halt her retreat, but she flinched as if she expected to be hit. Jon’s stomach dropped, realizing in that moment that she had been more mistreated then he had first imagined. She must have seen the dawning realization in his eyes, for her face flushed in embarrassment and she quickly fled his room.


	7. A Gentleman's Lady (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a bit of a creative dry spell at the moment, but hopefully this short little chapter will be enjoyed as I try to write myself out of my writer's block. 
> 
> Its a short chapter, just getting into Sansa's head a bit after her and Jon's unorthodox wedding night. Thanks everyone for reading and for your lovely, thoughtful comments! You keep me going!

“Sansa!” Jon knocked firmly on her door. Sansa stood on the other side staring at it, not sure she could face him. She had fled his room this morning afraid he would see how broken she truly was, and she did not want to be broken, she wanted to be strong.

“I need to ready myself for the day, Mr. Snow,” Sansa called through the wood, trying to sound unperturbed.

“I think we ought to talk,” He said lowering his voice.

“Later,” She replied, needing time to compose herself. She did not want his pity, and she had seen it in his eyes already this morning. Sansa heard him sigh.

“Later,” He repeated, and she heard his footsteps walking away. Sansa cursed herself for pushing him away when last night he had made her feel comfortable and young again, when it had been so very long since she had felt either.

Slowly, she pulled on a simple dress and pulled her hair up in a simple style. Last night, Jon had looked at her hair with a sort of wonder, as if he wanted to touch it. She wondered if he wanted to touch her. The thought gave her shivers. She knew love was not required in the marriage bed and that men had needs, but what would Jon be like? She had no experience beyond Marillion’s cruel groping hands, Harry’s untoward advances, and Uncle Petyr’s leering stares. Mr. Baratheon had a been drunken and lecherous himself and had more interest in bedding prostitutes in the city more than he did in being kind to his wife. As much as she had despised Mrs. Baratheon, she had not been oblivious to the older’s woman’s occasional bruises. All the men Sansa knew, save her father, had been cruel and selfish. She had no idea what to expect from Jon Snow. He had been kind to her last night, but though they may be wed, they were little more than strangers.

Finishing getting herself ready for the day, Sansa quietly opened her bedroom door and looked both ways down the hall. She hoped she had stayed in her chamber long enough to avoid anyone at breakfast, she did not think she could eat a bite with all the nerves roiling around in her stomach. Not ready to face Jon, she believed the house was likely big enough to avoid him for the day, besides he was a busy man with plenty of work to keep him occupied. Sansa wondered how she should spend her day, never before had her time been her own. At the Baratheon’s she had been expected to entertain Joffrey, and at Aunt Lysa’s she had been little more than Robyn’s governess. Now though, she was the Lady of a great house, married to a husband who was a landed lord. How did Jon expect her to fill her days? Thinking of how she and Jon had spent their night, Sansa smiled. She could not remember the last time she had felt such a measure of peace, but then she had to go and spoil it all by recoiling from his touch as if he had struck her. No one had been that close to her without the intention to hurt her, since her father had died.

Peeking her head into the dining room, she noted that there was no one there, and so she hastily grabbed a scone for later and bolted toward the door. Perhaps she could explore the estate today? She had such vague recollections of most of the estate, that she felt like she was in a new place entirely. Perhaps she could go see Gilly, but perhaps Gilly would rather she wait until invited? Sansa walked across the cobblestone courtyard toward the stables. Perhaps Jon would not mind her taking a mount out for a ride?

“You look perplexed, Lady Snow.”

Sansa whipped around, unfamiliar with her new name, to see Davos standing there grinning at her.

“I’m… I’m unsure what my occupation is here, sir,” Sansa confessed politely, “I’m afraid, I’ve never been the lady of the house before.”

Davos chuckled and strode toward her.

“Aunt Lysa and Mrs. Baratheon were not exactly typical examples to follow,” She said flatly. Her ignorance embarrassed her. Did the lady of the house plan menus? Sew in the parlor? What would she sew? Did they simply make babies, whilst hiring out their raising to nannies and governesses? Sansa wondered if her life would be simpler if she had wed a fisherman or a tenant farmer, then at least she would cook the meals and raise the children. But what did a gentleman’s wife do to occupy her time?

“I would imagine an industrious young lady like yourself will find something worthy of your time,” Davos said with an encouraging smile.

“What do you do, Mr. Seaworth?” Sansa asked.

“Call me Davos, my lady,” Davos chuckled, “And I manage the staff, and assist Jon in any other matters of business he might have need of.”

“Where are you off too this morning?” Sansa asked as he started to walk, and she followed.

“Its lambing season,” Davos explained, “All of Scotland is off to their pastures.”

Sansa chuckled, “Does Mr. Snow only keep sheep?” Her father had kept sheep and grew pastures full of barley.

“No, the estate is large, so we manage quite a large flock of sheep and a herd of highland cattle,” Davos continued, “And we keep several front pastures for barley, and many of our tenants grow potatoes and other root vegetables.”

“May I come out to the pastures?” Sansa asked. She had never seen anything being born and was curious. Davos looked her up and down as if ascertaining her fitness to follow him.

“There will be quite a lot of walking, and I’m not sure your shoes are quite cut out for the hike,” Davos said in warning.

“Perhaps not, but I’m strong, I can manage myself,” Sansa assured the older.

“Very well then, Mrs. Snow,” Davos said with a chuckle and shake of his head, “Stick close to me, though, I would not want you getting lost out there.”

“I will,” Sansa promised him and together they trudged off to the pastures.

* * *

There were field hands manning the flocks of sheep and Sansa saw several dozen ewes that looked ready to drop their lambs.

“Does Mr. Snow sell the sheep? Or sheer them?” Sansa asked, then swallowed, “Or butcher them?”

“We keep a heard for sheering and a heard for selling, but usually we sell to butchers rather than doing the butchering ourselves,” Davos explained.

Sansa was glad, though she understood the necessity of sheep to the Scottish economy and diet, she did not anticipate enjoying participating in a butcher’s work.

“Mrs. Snow…” Davos started.

“Please, Davos, please call me Sansa,” Sansa said interrupting him.

“Ms. Sansa, then,” Davos grinned.

“Very well.”

“Ms. Sansa,” Davos indicating three young men tending to the sheep, “This is Pypar, Grenn, and Podrick, better known as Pod.”

Sansa curtsied, and Pod blushed bright red, “Pleased to meet you all.”

“This is our new Lady Snow,” Davos introduced, “And expect each and every one of you to look out for her and treat her with the respect she deserves.”

It was Sansa’s turn to blush. How long had it been since anyone had said such a thing about her?

“Aye, Davos, we would not let any harm come to Jon’s lady!” Grenn bellowed, looking almost insulted that Davos would suggest otherwise. Pypar only chuckled and elbowed Grenn in the side. Pod was still blushing, which made Sansa smile. They seemed like dear boys… or young men rather, still Sansa obeyed and stuck close to Davos. Winterfell was a man’s world, Gilly had told her as much. Davos and Sansa walked a few paces away as he began to inspect the sheep.

“They’re good lads, the three of them, a little rough around the edges but reliable,” Davos said, “Though I’m afraid Pod turns tongued tied whenever there is a lovely lady about,” Davos chuckled as older men tend to do at the comedies of youth.

Sansa laughed softly and observed Davos as he began to examine one of the ewes. Sansa reached out to touch scraggly wool and laughed as one of the sheep nipped her sleeve.

“We’re expecting at least three lambs today, maybe more,” Pod explained to Davos approaching him with his shepherd’s staff in his hand, “In fact there is one out there,” Pod pointed to a ewe that had isolated herself, “I was about to go and check on her, I think she is lambing.”

“It’s important to get the lambs warm and dry as quickly as possible,” Davos explained, “Hypothermia is the greatest risk to newborn lambs in this climate.”

Sansa nodded and they began to follow Pod out further into the pasture. A Scottish pasture, this far north, was not the same as the flat rolling pastures Sansa was used to in the south. These pastures were rocky, and inclined, and Sansa understood why Davos had been concerned about her shoes. She, however, persevered, and imagined herself to be the highland princess that Jon had called her only the previous day. Dew and dirt soiled the hem of her dress, and Sansa knew that by the time they returned to the house, she would look affright, but at least out here she was certain she would be able to avoid facing Jon.

They reached the ewe, and Pod indicated for Sansa and Davos to wait, so that they did not frighten the creature. From her vantage point, she could see that the ewe was certainly giving birth, which was both alarming and fascinating. Pod waved Davos over and Sansa came close enough to watch the two men at work. Pod handed her the blanket he had had tossed over his shoulder.

“Would you like to dry the lamb off when he’s been delivered?” Pod asked.

Sansa tucked a stray strand of hair out of her face, “Yes, if that would be helpful.”

“It would,” Davos smiled at her, and Pod gave her a bashful grin. Sansa sat down in the wet grass and felt her hair starting to fall out of the messy bun she had hastily secured it in. Davos and Pod came and sat near her.

“We don’t want to disturb the ewe too much, she knows what she is doing,” Davos explained quietly, when Sansa gave him a puzzled look, “We just like to be nearby in the event of complications and to make sure the lamb gets to its feet and is warm and dry.”

Sansa nodded and watched as the ewe bleated and strained.

When the lamb emerged, Pod waited, and all watched with bated breath to see if the lamb would stand on its own. When it did, Pod waved Sansa over with the blanket he had given her.

“Just stroke down it’s sides, and get him dried off,” Pod instructed. Sansa did as instructed, while the little lamb cried. She smiled and ruffled its damp wool. The ewe bleated and Sansa wondered if she did not appreciate the three humans interfering with her baby.

“There you go little fella,” Sansa crooned at the baby, as the lamb started to nuzzle at his mother obviously searching for her teat. Sansa pulled the blanket away once the lamb was suckling. Her hair had completely fallen out of its bun now and she was a mess. Pod took the blanket from her, and she crinkled her nose as he slung the soiled cloth over his shoulder.

“We will leave them be for a bit and come and check on them on our way back up,” Pod said, and led the way lower into the pasture. They had to climb down a few rocky inclines, but they found another group of sheep and Sansa caught glimpses of some older lambs frolicking around their mothers. She giggled at the sight. Sweating from their climb and certain that her face was smudged with dirt, Sansa followed Pod and Davos into the flock. Pod caught one of the lambs up and handed it to Sansa.

“This spry fellow was born a few days ago,” Pod said.

Sansa grinned at the little lamb in her arms, “He’s a handsome fellow,” she chuckled, though she imagined all the sheep looked relatively the same. Pod and Davos laughed.

Sitting down on a large stone, Sansa cradled the little lamb for a few minutes more, enjoying the new experiences of the day. Everywhere she had lived, she had felt in the way or unwanted… no body had made her feel that way here, and it warmed her heart. Finally, she put the lamb down so that it could frolic with the other lambs, and she pulled her legs up beneath her on the rock and watched Davos and Pod as they inspected the sheep in the rocky outcropping of pasture. She could almost hear those magical bagpipes that she had always imagined being able to hear in the hills of Scotland. She smiled feeling like perhaps she had finally come home. Her reverie was rudely interrupted, however, when she caught sight of a figure stalking down the pasture toward them. The riotous mess of black curls atop his head was unmistakable. Jon Snow was coming down to them. Sansa wanted to sink into the ground. _Was he looking for her? Was he angry that she had disappeared?_ She had come down here to avoid him and yet she could not seem to escape him. Sansa stood from her rock and started to dust herself off, though she knew it would be no use. She knew she looked like a tenant farmer’s wife not gentleman’s lady. She saw Jon eyes change when he caught sight of her, but she could not tell what he was thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Jon finds Sansa in the pasture


	8. A Gentleman (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references a few darker themes, there are very vague discussions of abuse and attempted rape. It does not go into detail, but I wanted to warn up front just in case. I hope this chapter turned out alright, and that everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting, you all keep me motivated!

When Jon had agreed to _later_ , he had envisioned having a talk over breakfast… that had been over an hour ago. Sighing deeply, he wondered if sighing would become a common practice in marriage. He had planned to wait for her to eat breakfast, but she did not seem in any rush to join him. Jon knew nothing about caring for a wife, and though he did not know her, he did want her to be happy and satisfied with her life here. Finally deciding that she was not going to join him, Jon ate alone, which he was accustomed to doing. He had taken the majority of his meals alone in the years since leaving the army, and in reality, he may as well have eaten alone all his life.

 _“I’m not suffering for companionship,”_ Jon had told Sam when he had first been trying to make the decision to ask for Sansa’s hand. Sam had given him a pitying look that Jon, to this day, did not appreciate recollecting. He did not need companionship, did he? He would be just fine if she chose to never share breakfast with him. He had business to attend in town, and then he needed to be out in the pastures checking on the lambs, and he would have asked Sansa to go with him, but he could not wait all day for her if she was going to obstinately refuse to come out of her chambers.

“Eating alone?” Davos’ voice interrupted him. Jon’s head snapped up. _Could the old man read his mind?_

“Aye,” Jon said, “How’s Marya?”

“My lady is doing just fine,” Davos chuckled, “Fretting over our youngest as usual. Matthos is the only one left at home for her to fret over.”

Jon smiled. He knew the Seaworth’s had had seven sons, who all loved their parents, and who all loved each other. Jon had wished for such a family growing up.

“And your lady?” Davos asked, as if he knew something was amiss. _He probably did_ , Jon thought as he shifted in his seat.

“Upstairs,” replied Jon.   
“Upstairs?” Davos repeated and then gave Jon a sly smile, “Did she not sleep well, then?”

Jon cut Davos a sharp look. Only Davos and Sam were familiar enough, and dear enough, to Jon to speak so straightforwardly.

“We did not… we…” Jon stammered, and raked a hand through his hair, “We did not know each other in that sense.”

Davos grinned at him, “I didn’t ask.”

“You were asking, without asking,” Jon grumbled, and stood, and Davos’ eyes twinkled with mirth.

“I know yours is not the easiest of circumstances,” Davos said seriously as he followed Jon outside.

“No,” Jon agreed.

“But I’ve seen good marriages have rockier starts,” said Davos. Jon knew it was not unheard of for people to wed total strangers, and he did not regret his decision to marry Sansa, but the perplexities of navigating the situation were lost on him. He had never believed himself to have the social graces required to be a noble gentleman with a beautiful and elegant lady wife.

“Yes,” Jon agreed, though he was still unsure on whether love could ever bloom again for him. _Love is not required_ …. Sansa had said last night and it damn near broke his heart. They made it to the stable and Jon began to saddle up his horse.

“Do you plan to know each other?” Davos pressed.

“There was mention of children,” said Jon, though he would not tell Davos that Sansa had actually come to his room last night with the intention of letting him have her. She had looked scared of him, just as she had this morning before she fled his room. He had not liked the idea that she feared him. “But I think we both need time.”

Davos only nodded at that, as Jon stroked his horse’s elegant neck, before moving to mount.

“I’m going to town on those business matters we spoke of, I shall not be gone long, then I’ll join you all in the pastures,” Jon said, and Davos nodded his agreement, and just before he made to leave, Jon remembered and turned back to Davos, “Could you ask Cook to make lemon cake with supper?”

* * *

Not particularly fond of town, Jon was happy to finish his business and ride back down the dusty roads toward Winterfell. He intended to stop briefly and say hello to Sam and Gilly before he went back to the house. When Jon had been a little boy, he imagined growing into a life like Sam’s, one of simplicity and sincerity, with a sweet wife who loved him and children he could give a happy home too, a home he was denied in his youth. Jon, however, had been unwillingly born into a privilege he had never been able to deny. Sam and Gilly had always had the freedom to do with life whatever they wanted. Jon’s freedom had been granted through Winterfell and with that freedom had come great responsibility. He was not always confident that he was the best steward of that responsibility, but he tried. Knocking on Sam’s door, Jon was greeted by Gilly who seemed to look more pregnant every time he saw her.

“Hello, Jon, did Sansa come?” Gilly asked looking behind him.

“I’m afraid not.”

“I will have to call on her tomorrow and invite her down for tea.”

“Thank you, Gilly, I think she would appreciate that,” Jon said, having had the distinct impression that Sansa had never known many true friends. Suddenly, a tiny person collided with Jon’s legs. Laughing, Jon grabbed up Little Sam and gave him a little toss in the air and caught him again, making the child squeal with laughter. He ruffled Little Sam’s hair and put him back on the ground.

“How have the two of you gotten on since yesterday?” Gilly asked.

“Yes, how are the two of you getting on?” Big Sam reiterated, emerging from his office to overhear Gilly.

Jon sighed, “Everything seemed to be progressing quite amiably until this morning.”

“What happened this morning?” Sam asked with a frown. Jon hesitated, not sure how much of his wife’s secrets he could share.

“We had a misunderstanding is all, then she did not come down for breakfast,” Jon said, “I’m sure you are aware that Sansa has not been treated kindly in the past.”

Sam nodded, very much aware of Jon’s suspicions regarding Petyr Baelish.

“I know ours is not a marriage of love,” Jon continued, as he followed Sam and Gilly into the small and homey sitting room, “But I do want her to feel safe here, safe with me.”

Jon watched as Gilly rested her hands on her protruding bump and took Sam’s hand. They were one of the most demonstrative couples Jon had ever known. He knew they loved each other… it was evident in the way they looked at each other and touched each other. Gilly was giving Sam a second child, and in that was love enough. Jon recalled standing with Sam outside the house when Gilly gave birth to Little Sam. The sounds she had made had haunted Jon, and yet still they were going to bring another little one into the world.

“You are a gentle, patient, and generous man, Jon Snow, and I think if you continue in those practices, I have no doubt that Sansa will see you for the fine husband that you are,” said Gilly.

Jon smiled softly, “Thank you, Gilly.”

“Gilly’s right,” Sam agreed, “Be kind to her, be patient with her, and I think she will come to see you as we do.”

Jon nodded, and looked down at his hands, before watching Little Sam toddle into the sitting room and tug at Sam to play with him. Jon remembered when he had been a child, and how those pleas were often ignored. He swore that if he were ever blessed with children, he would never be too busy for them.

“Stay and have lunch with us, Jon,” Gilly invited as she stood from the chair.

Jon stood as well and raked a hand through his hair, “Thank you, but I feel I should check on Sansa, and then I’m needed in the pastures.”

* * *

Jon searched the house for his wife but could not seem to find her anywhere. Surely, she was not still taking refuge from him in her chamber? He knocked on her door several times and waited. When no response came, he very slowly cracked open the door and peeked inside.

“Sansa?” He called but there was no response and there was no one in the room. Perplexed, he stalked down toward the kitchen and nearly ran right into Cook.

“Have you seen Lady Snow?” Jon asked the elderly lady, of whom Jon had grown rather fond.

“I caught a glimpse of her grabbing a scone off the breakfast table this morning, she’s a bit skittish that one,” Cook chuckled and shook her head, “I thought she might have come and had a talk with me seeing as she’s the new lady of the house, but have not seen her.”

Jon frowned. _Where could she be?_ “Thank you.”

“I did start on that lemon cake you had Davos request for supper,” said Cook.

“You’re a gem,” Jon grinned at Cook, and the old lady blushed and brushed off his complement, making him laugh.

After searching the library, Jon resigned himself. He had work to do. If she did not want to see him then there was nothing, he could do about it. Marching outside, Jon began to stalk toward the pastures. There was no denying he was angry. How could she simply disappear? Had their morning truly turned so sour that she wanted nothing more to do with him? She had said they would talk later, and it was later. He was ready to talk. As he walked, however, he grew concerned. What if she had taken a walk and gotten lost? Or worse, what if she had gotten hurt somehow? Jon felt his stomach twist with anxiety. Should he be sending out a search party for her instead of stalking down to the pastures? Shaking his head, he knew that would be overreacting. He would speak to Davos first. He caught sight of Davos out in the field with Podrick, most likely checking on the lambs and the ewes. As he drew closer, however, his eyes were drawn to the unmistakable fiery red hair of Sansa. She stood up from the stone she had been sitting upon when she saw him approaching. Her dress was dirty, and her hair was loose and a little tangled. Dusting herself frantically, Jon watched as she squared her shoulders. As he came closer, he could see fear in her eyes, but she stood unflinchingly as he came to stand in front of her. Yes, he was still angry, but the look on her face both saddened and softened him. Was he so frightening?

“Sansa,” Jon said and took a step toward her. She took a step back and Jon was keenly and uncomfortably aware that Davos and Podrick were watching them.

“Jon,” Sansa said coolly without even a tremor.

“I’ve been looking for you,” He tried to keep his tone even. _Be gentle… be patient,_ Sam and Gilly had admonished. He offered her a smile, but she still looked wary.

“I’ve been observing the lambing,” She replied softly. Jon looked her up and down, she looked a bit wild, and not like the fragile lady he had met only a few days prior. The sight of her lovely hair, loose and blowing in the breeze stirred something inside him. He cleared his throat, feeling dreadfully uncomfortable.

“The lambing?” Jon repeated, still rather puzzled and a little annoyed at finding her all the way out here.

“I… I wanted to see…” She said by way of explanation, “I’ve never seen anything born before…”

They stared at each other for a few beats, and Jon looked down and saw the state of her flimsy shoes.

“Your shoes…” He frowned.

“I’m fine,” Sansa insisted, “I’m stronger than I look, and I wanted to come see…”

“The lambing,” Jon supplied and sighed.

“I’m sorry I was not at the house.”

“I was worried,” Jon said simply.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” she replied, and part of Jon wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her out of this cool reserve and bring back the softness he had witnessed last night in his bed. The world had been too cruel to her… perhaps too cruel to them both.

“I think we should talk,” Jon said, coming a little closer and cringing when she took another step away. Sighing, he held out his hand as he had the night before, and she had taken it. Sansa looked down at his offered hand as if she did not know what to do with it. “Come home with me,” he repeated.

She looked at him then back at his hand, “Don’t you need to be in the pastures?”

“Davos and Podrick know what they are doing,” Jon assured, “Come home with me and let us talk.”

Sansa looked back at Davos for a moment, and Jon saw Davos give her an encouraging smile. She looked at his hand again, and then took it.

* * *

Jon held tight to her hand, and they were silent for a long while as they walked back toward the house. He was not sure what to ask her, and she seemed less than willing to share her thoughts voluntarily. He did notice, however, that she hobbled a bit on her feet.

“Do your feet pain you?” Jon asked, noting once again how worn her thin shoes appeared.

“Some,” Sansa said, “But I’m fine.”

Jon nodded and they were silent once more. He knew they needed to make room in the silence to talk, but there was so much to say, he did not know where to begin.

“Did you ever come out to the pastures with your father?” Jon found himself asking.

“Not that I remember,” she replied in a pained voice, “But the memories seem to grow fainter with each passing year, so I am not sure.”

“I would have given much to have happy memories of my father,” Jon said sadly as he led her inside the house and up the stairs.

“My memories were happy… and now they are sad,” Sansa said, “Though I suppose happy memories that make me sad, are better by far than no happy memories at all.”

Jon looked at her and smiled gently. Limping now and trying to hide it, she followed him toward the staircase. Jon watched with a frown, catching one of the kitchen staff in passing, he ordered some clean warm water to be brought up to Sansa’s chambers. Sansa looked confused but did not comment. Coming to her side, Jon reached for her elbow but she pulled away.

“Can you make it up the stairs?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” She replied simply and shuffled up the stairs with Jon at her side.

They opened the door to Sansa’s chamber, just as the kitchen maid was pouring warm water into the basin. When the maid left, Jon led her toward to the edge of the bed. She looked startled but tried to hide it. He urged her to sit and she did, saying nothing only studying his face. Kneeling in front of her, Jon reached for her ankle which she pulled away from him.

“Let me look at your feet,” Jon instructed, and slowly reached for her ankle again. She did not protest and so he began to slowly unlace her delicate shoe, making note of the thin, worn out soles, and a few patched holes. Jon looked up into her eyes, and she looked away, embarrassed. Dropping his eyes back to his task, he removed one shoe and then the other, and very slowly tugged her stockings down to reveal shapely calves and porcelain skin. Picking up her foot, he found them red and raw, with a few blisters on her ankle, heal and toe, as if the shoes were too small for her.

“Sansa…” Jon sighed sadly, as he examined the blisters.

“Please don’t…” She pleaded as if he shamed her.

“Your shoes…” He tried again. She started to pull her foot away. “Sansa, let me take care of your feet, we can’t have them getting infected.”

Still, she looked hesitant.

With another deep sigh, Jon looked up at her, “I know you do not yet know me well, and I know, whether you care to admit it or not, that you were not treated kindly in the past, but you have nothing to fear from me, I swear it.”

“I’m not afraid,” She said defiantly, raising her head, though he could still feel her tremble. Jon sat back on his heels and chuckled, rubbing a hand down his beard.

“I don’t know what to make of you,” He confessed with a smile, “You run from me this morning, you hide from me all day, and now you look ready to fight me.”

He saw the corner of her mouth twitch with a smile.

“If you don’t want me to tend them, I can call Sam…” Jon offered.

“No, no, that will not be necessary,” Sansa replied and shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

“Then let me see your foot,” Jon commanded as he might a wounded soldier. Sansa stared at him for a few moments, then extended her foot to him. He gave her a smile, and she glared at him. Rising from the ground, Jon retrieved the basin of water and brought it over to where she sat, and very gently began to examine the sores. Washing the grim from her feet with a clean cloth, Jon stole a glance up at her and she merely watched him. Jon thought he saw a sheen of moisture in his eyes, but perhaps he imagined it. He wondered what she was thinking. He washed both feet and dried them with a linen. He was not sure if they required bandages, but he did know they would be sore for a few days.

“Where are your clean stockings?” Jon asked.   
Sansa started to stand, but he urged her back down.

“I’ll get them,” He insisted. She pointed to a drawer in the bureau. The drawer was not very full, and Jon felt his heart sink at how neglected she had been. Retrieving what he thought were the softest pair of stockings he returned to kneel in front of her, and they were quiet as he put the stockings on her sore feet.

“You are not to put those shoes on again,” Jon commanded, sternly.

Sansa said nothing in response.

“Tomorrow you and I are going to town to get you some new shoes,” Jon said.

She looked as if she did not know what to say. Her bright blue eyes studied him, and Jon was struck with how truly beautiful she was, she had a wild and strong beauty about her, like the very Highlands themselves. Their eyes held together, and very slowly, not wanting to startle her, Jon reached up and brushed a finger across her downy cheek. She leaned into his hand for a moment as if no one before had ever touched her with kindness. When he withdrew his hand, he felt flushed and her cheeks were a soft pink. Jon cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair and Sansa drew her legs up onto the bed and looked down at the floor.

“People in the past have sworn never to hurt me,” She confessed in a whisper, “And they did…”

“Well, I’m not them.”

“They were people I thought I could trust, people who I thought loved me… people that I thought I loved,” Sansa turned her head away from him, her fingers picking at the blanket on her bed. Jon sat down on the edge of the bed beside her.

“Who?”

“His name was Harry Hardying,” Sansa’s voice grew soft and sad, “He said he loved me, and I thought I might could love him… but one day, I was caught… in a… in a… compromising position with a one of my Aunt’s guests, a musician named Marillion, and instead of protecting me, instead of defending my honor, he spread lies about me when I refused to wed him.”

Jon did not know what to say, “And Marillion, he made inappropriate advances toward you?”

Sansa could not look at him, “He tried…” She took a shuddering breath, “He tried to… take advantage of me in the stables one day…”

She did not say the words, but Jon knew what she meant, and his heart broke for her, “If Harry had not stumbled upon us, I imagine he would have succeeded. Harry was little better than Marillion in the end, he tried to force himself upon me, and asked me to marry him, and when I refused he spread lies about me all over town that I was a loose woman, a woman of ill repute. My Aunt and Uncle believed him of course… said that it did not matter if it were true or not, that I should not have refused to marry the richest man in town. They were fond of hitting too, just as Mrs. Baratheon was,” Sansa looked at Jon then, “So if I recoil from you, please know that it is not you… its just the shadows and I don’t know how to make them go away.”


	9. Strangers (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up where the last chapter left off. I'm not super confident with how it turned out, but I hope everyone enjoys! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for your lovely comments! Reading your comments absolutely make my day!

The confession hung between them for a few moments in silence. Sansa could not abide the pity she saw in his eyes.

“Please…” She started, “I did not tell you these things to garner your pity…”

“Pity and compassion are not the same,” Jon told her firmly.

 _Compassion? Is compassion what he felt for her?_ Sansa shifted uncomfortably on the bed, unsure how to respond. There had been times over the last couple of days of her acquaintance with Jon that she wondered why he had sent for her, why he had asked for her hand in marriage. Winterfell was his with or without her, and yet he sent for her anyway… brought her home. Of what benefit could it be to him, to have wed a total stranger? She did not think she could ask him such a thing yet.

He looked at her and smiled kindly, and Sansa offered him a small smile in return.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’m your husband,” Jon said, and confessed, “I want to care for you.”

No one had ever cared for her since her family died.

“Thank you still…” Sansa insisted. She felt his fingers gently grasp hers.

“Will you share supper with me?” Jon asked, the vulnerability in his voice gave Sansa pause. _Did he care if they took their meals together?_

“Yes, I’ll share supper with you,” She agreed.

“You are not to wear those shoes down to dinner,” Jon commanded standing from the bed and making for the door.

“You would have me come barefoot? That is not proper,” Sansa teased. She had a pair of slippers but enjoyed seeing his grin at her tease.

“You can come in your silken stockings,” came his saucy retort, and Sansa felt her cheeks blush, and his grin only widened. Retreating out the door, he left Sansa sitting on her bed wondering who it was exactly that she had married.

* * *

The house did not seem so haunted to Sansa as they ate supper together in relative silence. Neither seemed to know what to say to the other, and Sansa supposed knowing each other would take practice. As she pushed food around her plate during their final course before dessert, Sansa stole glances at Jon and wondered if he did the same. Not for the first time did Sansa think her husband rather handsome, with his dark curls, intense eyes, and sturdy soldier’s body. She imagined many women had pined for him, and she wondered how many women he had had, but she would never be able to ask him such a question.

“How did you find the lambs this morning?” Jon asked suddenly, his mouth twitching in a smile as he realized her scrutiny of him.

Sansa quickly looked back down at her plate, “I think I should like to spend more time with them.”

He chuckled, “I suppose our lives would be simpler if I were a shepherd and you my wife.”

Sansa smiled at the image, “We could live in a little stone house in the woods, just the two of us.”

They met each other’s eyes. Sansa knew the words evoked the image of a couple happily in love and content with their simplicity. They would never be that couple, Sansa thought sadly, they shared no love between them and their responsibilities to Winterfell, its staff and tenants, would keep them out of the little stone house in the woods.

“Jon…” Sansa started tentatively.

He looked at her, “Yes?”

“What is…” Sansa was unsure what to say, “What is to be my… occupation here?”

“Your occupation?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

“Surely, you do not expect me to be idle, nor could I be…” Sansa continued.

“What do you wish to do?” Jon asked.

Sansa shifted uncomfortably in her seat and frowned, no one had ever asked her such a question. _What did she wish to do?_ She did not rightly know. “When you decided to take a wife, what did you have in mind that she might do?” Sansa asked, evading his question. It was the closest she imagined ever being able to ask him why he had married her.

Jon raked a hand through his hair, “What do great ladies do?”

Sansa giggled, “I would not know, husband.” _Husband?_ She did not know what had come over her to call him such a thing, but it had rolled off her tongue anyway.

“Nor I…” Jon said, his eyes soft as he gazed at her.

“I suppose neither of us have had great examples to live by.”

“Aye.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to make our own way,” said Sansa with a smile.

“Aye,” Jon repeated.

Sansa looked down at her plate once more, “Vaguely, I recall my mother managing the house,” Sansa confessed, then blushed, “But mostly she spent her days with us children, for she refused to hire a governess.”

Jon’s ears turned pink at the mention of children. Children were expected from any marital union, and Sansa had certainly entered this marriage with the knowledge, no matter how vague, that she would be expected to produce them. Jon would need a son after all to inherit the estate once they were gone. Further, she knew her future safety would be secured if she gave him a son, for she knew how fragile life was and if something ever happened to Jon, she would once again be tossed out of Winterfell as it was passed to some distant relation, who may not be so kindly as Jon. If Sansa gave Jon a son, then the estate and her own safety would pass to her son. Children they must have, but she did not know how Jon felt about children, or when he expected her to produce them. As a girl, Sansa had naively dreamed of love and children and building a home with a man she loved. _Could she at least be a good mother to Jon’s children, even if they never found love?_

“You look anxious,” Jon interrupted her thoughts, as their kitchen maid began to clear away the dishes.

“Not anxious,” Sansa took a sip of her wine, “I want to be useful to you, I would not like to spend my days idle like the great ladies in London who embroider and gossip, and offer nothing of value to their husband’s lives.”

Jon gave her a sweet smile, “I have no doubt that whatever you put your hand too, you add value.”

Sansa blushed.

When the maid brought out dessert, Sansa blinked down at her plate… lemon cake? She looked up at him, and he was grinning like a proud little boy, hungry for praise. She wondered how often that was neglected in his rearing.

“Lemon cake,” was all she managed to say through the emotions that had caught in her throat.

Jon smiled, “Aye.”

* * *

After horses were saddled, they stood in the courtyard about to leave for town. Jon was taking Sansa to buy her new shoes, and she felt rather bashful about it. She hesitated, hating to be the cause of any fuss, or any unnecessary expense. She had a pair of dainty slippers that did just well for light use, and she could mend her others for walking outdoors.

“We needn’t go to all this trouble, Jon,” Sansa said, patting the horse’s neck, “I know you are far too busy to be wasting your afternoon shopping with me. I can mend…”

“No,” Jon snapped tersely, “Those shoes have been mended, and mended again from the look of them, its high time you had some new ones.”

“But…” Sansa started to protest.

“No,” He reiterated, “I will not have you coming in with your feet bloodied every time you go outside.”

“My feet were hardly bloodied…” Sansa protested.

“After we get you new shoes, we are to stop by to inspect the roof of one of our tenants, and then we will take lunch with Sam and Gilly,” Jon said.

Sansa nodded, as she stroked the horse’s silken mane.

Jon reached for her, and she instinctively recoiled. He held his hands up in apology, and the gentle understanding and patience, she saw in his eyes nearly broke her.

“I meant to help you mount,” Jon explained himself. Sansa nodded and then let out a small squeal of surprise when he lifted her by the waist to help her onto her horse. Not that she had doubted it, but her husband was strong, and though he was gently born, he had the rough-hewn hands of a man unafraid of work, and hard work at that. He was not the performed lord, of Harry and Petyr’s ilk. He was a man all his own. Jon patted the horse and looked up at her.

“Ready?” He asked with a kind smile.

“Ready,” Her feet still pained her, but she determined to follow Jon’s lead today, as he seemed keen to have her with him. She wondered what it had been like growing up for him, and then living in this enormous house all alone, save the servants. _Was Jon the type of man to be lonely?_

They walked their horses toward town in relative silence. Sansa was not oblivious to the stares of some of their tenants and the people of the village along the road. She wondered what is was they were thinking. She knew, no matter how high born she was, she did not look the part of a great lady. _Perhaps they thought her too common looking for Jon?_

“While we are out, you should choose some fabrics,” Jon suddenly said, clearing his throat, “We will have a seamstress do you up a few new dresses, and any… other…” He seemed to trip over his words, “Any woman’s things you might need.”

Sansa shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, “Jon, how many dresses do you believe I need?” His generosity nearly pained her.

“I don’t know…” He said gruffly, “But more…”

“But the expense is hardly necessary…” Sansa stated firmly as they reigned their horses up in front of the drapers. Jon swung out of his saddle and came to her side to help her down. His hands on her waist lifted her like she weighed nothing at all.

“Our finances are hardly suffering,” Jon chuckled, “I think we can spare enough for some new dresses.”

“I don’t want to be wasteful,” Sansa admitted look down at the ground, unable to meet his eye. His hand entwined with hers. She looked up at him and his eyes were sad and serious.

“It would not be a waste, I promise you,” He whispered, and so she nodded and allowed him to lead the way into the drapers.

For all his fine words, Jon looked rather uncomfortable in the fabric store, as if he had no idea how he had found himself there among all the silks and satins and cotton. Sansa imagined they made quite a pair, with Jon so obviously out of his depth and her having never been given much opportunity to purchase her own belongings. She ran her fingers along silk and brocade, not sure what or how much she should choose. She did not want to protest again, for fear of offending Jon’s generosity. Tracing one finger along a sturdy but elegant fabric of light blue, she felt Jon sidle up to her.

“Do you like that one?” He asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” She whispered in return, and he picked up the bolt of fabric for.

“Good, now choose another.”

“Another?”

“Yes,” confirmed Jon as he walked toward the counter with the one fabric she had chosen, delaying for a moment to look at ribbons as she continued to stand beside the fabrics. She pretended not to notice as he touched a few of the ribbons, looked back at her, and then proceeded to choose one that seemed to suit whatever image of her he had conjured in his mind.

“I heard a rumor that you had taken a wife, Snow!” bellowed the large man behind the counter. Sansa continued to peruse the fabric as Jon spoke with the shop keeper.

“Aye, news travels fast here,” Jon said with a laugh.

“She’s seems a delicate little thing,” said the draper when he thought Sansa was not listening.

Jon chuckled good naturedly, “She’s strong enough to keep me on my toes.”

Sansa smiled to herself and selected two more fabrics before joining her husband at the counter.

* * *

By the time they left town, Sansa had been measured and fitted for three new dresses, and some new under garments, a new hair ribbon chosen by Jon, and a shiny new pair of leather shoes. The shoes were so pretty she had almost been afraid to wear them, but Jon had promptly disposed of her old ones once the purchase had been made leaving her little choice but to wear the new ones. They rode through the lane where many of their tenants lived and Sansa was pleased, that though there was evident poverty here, their homes were in good repair. Jon was a man of means and could have sent someone to do this work and yet he came himself. Jon Snow was a good master and landlord… like her father…

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Snow!” exclaimed one boisterous voice. Jon smiled and waved as people recognized him and greeted him warmly. Jon pulled his horse in front of an ancient house, where a very old woman stood in the doorway. She had wrinkles and wispy, straw like grey hair, and when her eyes caught sight of Sansa, she beamed at Jon.

“Well, bless my soul, if t’aint Lady Stark come again!” The old woman exclaimed. Sansa’s breathe caught in her chest at the words, as Jon helped her down from her horse. She squirmed under the woman’s scrutiny.   
“I remember, I do,” said the old woman, “The North remembers the Starks.”

Sansa did not know what to say, “Catelyn Stark was my mother, ma’am.”

“Aye,” said the woman, “I see her looking back at me out of your eyes.”

Sansa thought her heart might break.

“Lord and Lady Stark were dear souls, gone too soon from this world,” said the old woman, “This mountain was the better for them, though I reckon Jon here is following in their footsteps.”

Jon smiled at the old woman, and took her hand and kissed the back of it as if she were a fine lady, and not an old woman with dirty hands and straw-like hair, “Very generous of you to say so, Nan.”

Nan turned her appraising eyes back on Sansa, “You must be the little Stark girl left in the south when Ned Stark went to war.”

“I am, ma’am, my name is Sansa,” She said, and the woman grasped Sansa’s hands. Sansa felt Jon’s eyes on her… watching her.

“Why did you not tell me you were wedding the last Stark, Jon Snow? This was cause for celebration,” Nan smacked Jon’s arm, like she might an unruly son, making him laugh.

“Come, my dear, you must have a cup of tea with me, while your rogue of a husband inspects my roof.”

Sansa glanced at Jon, and he gave her an approving nod, and so she followed Nan into the stone and thatch home. The hut was one room, but clean and orderly, obviously lovingly cared for by Nan even in her old age. Nan sat a chinked china cup in front of Sansa and poured some tea from the pot that was already boiling over the fire.

“Raised my brood here, Lady Sansa,” Nan explained, “Six of ‘em under this roof… lots of love to go around,” The old lady chuckled as she took the seat across from Sansa.

Sansa looked around once more, surprised that eight people could sleep in such a confined space. The children surely grew up knowing the facts of life, and yet love was no stranger to them. How strangely different this world was from the one she grew up in, where she was carefully sheltered but provided no love or companionship.

“I knew your mother from the time your father first brought her home,” Nan said, “She’d bring me soup, whenever I took ill, and looked after me after my dear husband died.”

Sansa did not know what to say.

“She was a good woman, your mother,” Nan continued. Sansa felt emotions constrict in her throat, but she refrained from crying. Tears were for the cover of night, when no one could see them.

“And your father a good man,” Nan stated giving her hand a firm pat, “He reminds me o’bit of your father, lass…” Nan said indicating the roof where they could see Jon inspecting the thatch. Sansa looked up. As Nan told her of how she had known her father since he was a “wee lad,” Sansa was struck with the realization these were her parents’ people, as much as they were Jon’s. _Could they be hers too?_

* * *

Once Jon had finished inspecting Nan’s roof, and making arrangements for its repair, the Snows rode for the Tarly’s house where they would take lunch. They were met at the door by Big Sam who was holding Little Sam. Sansa smiled at the chubby child.

“Come in, come in,” Sam greeted, and Sansa watched as Little Sam reached for Jon with a familiarity that made her heart ache with the sweetness. Jon took the child and gave him a little toss in the air, and caught him, making the child squeal with laughter. Sansa had never seen a man take interest in a child like her father had... until now. Petyr and Mr. Baratheon had only been interested in scolding. Jon carried little Sam as if he were made for fathering.

“Sansa,” Gilly called from the kitchen doorway, and Sansa went to her newfound friend and was immediately pulled into an embrace.

“How are you?” Sansa asked, laying a delicate hand on Gilly’s pregnant belly.

“Oh, I am well, neither Sam nor I think it will be much longer,” Gilly explained, “Maybe a month.”

Sansa smiled.

“Lunch is almost ready, make yourselves at home,” Gilly said.

Sansa was about to offer to help Gilly and their kitchen maid, when she was interrupted by Jon.

“Sam, I need you to take a look at Sansa’s feet,” He said in a voice that brooked no refusal on her part.

“That isn’t necessary…” She started to argue.

“It is,” was Jon’s stern reply.

“We are not here to put Sam to work, Jon,” Sansa said, trying to keep her voice even.

“It won’t take long, come,” Sam made to lead her into the sitting room.

“Go on,” Jon urged and then turned to walk away. Sansa was alarmed to realize that he was about to leave her alone with Sam, who was a veritable stranger to her.

“I’ll be back,” Jon assured her, “I’m going to see if I can be of service to Gilly.”

Sansa only nodded. Was not Jon a veritable stranger to her as well? Sam gave a friend chuckle as her eyes were trained on Jon’s retreating form.

“Don’t be alarmed, Lady Sansa, I think Jon is just over worried,” said Sam, “This shan’t take long, he just wants to be sure there is no infection.”

Sansa nodded again and followed him into the sitting room… _or perhaps it was his study?_

“Sit down in the chair there and slip off your shoes and stockings,” Sam instructed as he prepared a basin with water and linens and pulled bandages and instruments from drawers. Sansa obeyed, laying her precious new shoes to the side, along with her stockings. As he began to wash and examine her poor feet, Sam made conversation.

“I’m glad you are here with Jon.”

“I suppose I am too,” Sansa said, trying not to flinch.

“I don’t think he’d ever admit to it, but he’s been lonely up there in that big house,” Sam explained. Sansa would neither deny nor confirm Sam’s supposition, but she had suspected as much herself. She thought of Jon’s vulnerable eyes when he had asked her yesterday to join him for supper. He was lonely. She knew the look well, for she wore it often herself.

“His army days were hard on him,” Sam further explained, “I feared he’d never be happy again.”

“The army was not his choice,” said Sansa in understanding, remembering Jon’s words on their wedding night.

“His family very nearly disowned him after everything that had happened between him and Ygritte.”

“Ygritte?” Sansa felt her face burn.

Sam blushed himself when he looked up at her with the dawning realization of what he had just revealed. He cleared his throat.

“My apologies, I have said too much, I imagined as he told you of the army, I thought he might have told you of her,” Sam said.

“Who is Ygritte?” Sansa asked, wondering if Jon had a former lover who would cause him to stray from her one day when his compassion grew into boredom.

“I misspoke, Lady Sansa,” Sam stammered.

Sansa nodded and did not press. Was she merely a more acceptable replacement for the woman he loved? The thought made her sad, but she could not hold it against him, for she had married him for little more then safety and to escape her aunt and uncle. Would she be able to ask him one day? Sansa did not imagine he considered his former lovers any of her business, but she had told him of hers, sordid though they were. Sam must have seen the war on her face.

“He’d not like me talking about her,” Sam explained.

Sansa only nodded and did not ask. _Her_ … Now the ominous _her_ would be another shadow on the walls of Winterfell.

They ate lunch cheerfully with the Tarly’s, with Little Sam entertaining them all with his antics. Sansa found herself smiling and laughing more than she had in many years. The Tarly’s seemed to be the remedy for what ailed the world. Sam loved Gilly; Sansa could see it in his eyes. She had seen the look before in her father’s eyes when he had looked at her mother. It made Sansa’s heart ache for something she did not even believe in. With Gilly so close to her time, Sansa wondered how it was that she had so much energy. Sansa, of course, was dreadfully ignorant, as young noble women were expected to be, of creating life, and birth. She supposed Sam would deliver his wife’s baby, or would they call another physician?

“Gilly, when your time comes have Sam send up to the house,” Jon said, “And I will send one of our kitchen ladies down to help your maid.”

“Oh, thank you, Jon, but I don’t expect to be laid up very long,” Gilly laughed, “I’m likely to be on my feet the next day.”

“You will not,” Sam protested, making Jon and Sansa chuckle.

She knew such a thing was hardly asked in polite society, but Sansa was curious, “Will you attend Gilly when her time comes, Sam?”

“Usually a physician is not required at a birth,” Sam explained in quite a professional tone, “A woman is often attended by mother and sisters or midwives, unless there is some problem or other. So, I guess I will get to be the anxious father when the time comes.”

He and Gilly exchanged loving smiles.

Should she ever have a baby, Sansa had no mother or sisters to attend her. She had no one.

* * *

Late that night, a soft knock stirred Sansa from where she had just begun to get comfortable under her blankets. The knock came again. Only Jon would be knocking on the door that connected their chambers.

“Come in,” She called and sat up, being sure to pull her blanket around her as she was not wearing a robe as she had on their wedding night. Jon peeked his head through the door and smiled softly at her.

“Hello,” he said.

She stifled a giggle, “Hello.”

“May I…” He stammered, “May I… come in?”

“You may.”

Jon opened the door fully and, in his hands, he had a lamp and a plate full of lemon cake, and a book tucked under his arm.

“I hope I’m not being presumptuous…” He started, looking somewhat sheepish, “But I thought since we missed last night’s reading… I thought you might like to read some more tonight?”

Mimicking him from their wedding night, Sansa pulled back the blanket in invitation. He grinned and joined her, passing her the plate of lemon cakes and setting the lamp on the bedside table.

“How’s your feet?” He asked.

“Much better for your persistence and Sam’s salve,” Sansa admitted.

“Good.”

A silence fell over them, and Sansa wrung her hands together.

“Thank you…” She whispered, “For today I mean.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Jon said.

“Thank you still,” She smiled, repeating the words she had said to him after he tended to her feet. Taking a bite of lemon cake, Sansa settled herself by his side, her head on her pillow as she looked up at him.

“Will I always be the one doing the reading?” Jon asked her with a grin.   
Sansa yawned, “I like the sound of your voice.”

The smile he gave her then was surprisingly tender. She wanted to ask him if he was lonely, if that was the reason, he had sent for her, but she could not. She did not want to anger him, and risk him leaving her room… for she was lonely too.


	10. Helpmate (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on Sansa and Jon settling into their first week of marriage, not a lot of plot happens, but characters see some development. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your thoughtful comments, they give me life and motivation to continue!
> 
> Please Note: I do not speak Scottish Gaelic. I wish I did because I think it is a beautiful language. With that said, all the Gaelic used in this chapter was translated using Google translate, so it is very possible that the words are wrong or that I butchered the grammar, for which I do apologize. I hope you can forgive any errors on this issue. I debated not adding the Gaelic words since I don't speak Gaelic, but decided to go ahead with it, as it seemed very important for Sansa's reclaiming of her heritage. Also the idea of Jon speaking Gaelic melts my heart a bit.

“You wanted to see me?” Sansa asked as she tentatively opened the door to Jon’s study. Their chambermaid had fetched her saying that Jon wished to see her but did not say why. Sansa was hesitant to approach as his brow was furrowed and his eyes looked stormy, but when he looked up at her the clouds seemed to pass from his face. He smiled a welcoming smile.

“Yes, come and sit,” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. She sat and glanced over the papers and documents strewn across his desk.

“Since you have been asking for an occupation, I thought I might delegate a task to you, if you wish it.”

“Yes, of course,” Sansa agreed. Jon shifted a book in front of her.

“As I manage the finances of our businesses and properties,” Jon started, “I thought you might be able to assist me by taking over the management of our household finances.”

Sansa flushed at the way he said, _our,_ “Yes, though I’ve never…” She stammered eager to help but having never managed such a thing.

“I will help you, teach you, until you can manage on your own,” He offered.

Sansa nodded, “You would trust me to manage something of such import?”

“You are my wife,” He said simply. Sansa smiled. They had barely been married a week and he was extending this trust to her. It touched an unnamable place in her heart.

“Now, lets make a space for you,” Jon began to clear a part of his desk.

Sansa giggled, “You wish me to share your desk? I would not want to be in your way.”

“Nonsense, this is our shared study,” Jon insisted, and Jon laid the expense book in the newly cleared space and smiled at her, “Tea?” He offered, setting a cup from his tea tray in front of her.

“Please,” she said with a smile. What a turn her life had taken in a week…

She and Jon spent the rest of the evening with Jon leaning over her, showing her sums and budgets and the state of their household finances. Sansa had not been good at sums as a child, but she was clever, and she could learn. As Jon explained his processes, Sansa found herself watching him and smiling at his enthusiasm for the welfare of their home and estate. Ghost occasionally interrupted them demanding a pat or a scratch behind the ears, but Jon continued on his attention diverting from sums to the other concerns and worries of the estate, as if he had not spoken to anyone in years, and it made Sansa both happy and sad. When they finally retired to bed, they retired together as had become their custom, with Jon reading to her in her bed until she fell asleep. Rarely in her life had Sansa felt such peace.

* * *

Setting aside the ledger for their food expenses that Jon had put her in charge of yesterday, Sansa determined that she required some air. With a smile on her face, she ventured outdoors heading toward the barns to see if any of the new lambs had been brought in from the pastures. Inhaling deeply of the fresh Scottish air, Sansa smiled to herself. Looking around at the grey stone buildings, Sansa felt a keen but sweet pain in her heart, this was the home of her childhood… her home and for the first time since her father died, Sansa felt safe. She knew the feeling would be fleeting, but she savored these few moments of peace. The barn was quiet, and so Sansa strode in hoping not to disturb any of the staff. She heard a lamb bleating and smiled. Turning the corner, she found an ewe standing watch over a little lamb, who was standing on shaky little legs.

“Hello, little one,” Sansa crooned dropping to her knees in the hay to pet the tiny creature. The lamb stumbled and Sansa giggled and helped it back to its feet. It bleated for its mother, “Don’t cry little one, I’m only trying to help,” She grinned at the lamb who skipped away from her and ran into its mother. Reaching out, she stroked the lamb behind the ears. She imagined she was getting dirty down here in the hay, but she did not care. She leaned back against a bale of hay and looked at the rafters of the barn, full of cobwebs and dust, and breathed. She remembered playing in the barns with Arya and Robb, hiding in the hay bales and laughing without a care in the world.

Sansa thoughts were interrupted when Ghost appeared around the corner and immediately came to her, nudging her shoulder for her attention. Laughing, she fell back into the hay and Ghost licked her hand and nudged her again. Sansa reached up and scratched him behind the ears.

“Yes, you are my sweet boy, aren’t you?” She smiled as Ghost leaned into her hand. Suddenly, it occurred to her that if Ghost were out here then Jon was surely close by. She sat up quickly, though she continued to pet Ghost.

“I doubt Jon would be pleased to see his lady wife rolling about in the hay, ole boy.”

“On the contrary,” Jon’s voice caused her to startle though it should not have. Sansa whipped her head around to see Jon come around the corner. He had sleeves rolled to his elbows and he was wiping his hands with a cloth. He dropped to his knees beside her and grinned, “You look rather fetching with straw in your hair.”

Her cheeks were surely bright red. Slowly, Jon plucked a piece of straw from the end of her long, plaited hair. Casually leaning back against the hay bale, Jon smiled at her.

“How have you gotten on today?” He asked.

“Quite well,” Sansa said, drawing her legs up beneath her under her skirts, “I’ve been going over the ledger to learn it better, and decided to take some air.”

Jon chuckled, “In the barn?”

“I wanted to see the babes,” Sansa said with a smile as the tiny lamb approached them curiously. She felt Jon’s eyes on her as she scratched the lamb behind the ears.

“You have a nice touch,” He said. The compliment was simple, but sincere.

“I like working with them,” Sansa explained.

“As do I,” Jon said, “I prefer them to the sordid businessmen I have to deal with in town and abroad.”

“So did my father,” Sansa whispered, though the confession pained her.

Jon chuckled and took her hand, relieving the tension, “I always imagined he and I would be of a mind.”

Sansa smiled, “How often do you go abroad?”

“Enough to make me never want to leave again,” Jon confessed, “I may not have grown up here as you did…” He started and she shifted uncomfortably. Could she really say she had truly grown up in Winterfell? Jon sighed, “… But I love Winterfell, it has become my home, and I pray that I am as good a steward of it as your father was.”

Sansa thought it strange and terribly sad that Jon’s life would have turned out quite different if Robb had not died. Would he have still been in the army? Or wasting away among relatives who did not want him? The thought tore at her heart, which even after all these years of her trying to bury it, was still quite tender. She wished her brother alive, but she also wished Jon well and the two thoughts were not compatible with the reality she had lived. Perhaps, though, Jon would have lived in a little stone house with Ygritte and been a shepherd if Robb had not died? Would that have been the life he preferred?

“I hope one day to know what you are thinking when you grow so quiet,” Jon admitted with a laugh.

Sansa looked at him, “My thoughts are not for the faint of heart,” she tried to tease, but the lightness of her heart from earlier had grown heavy.

“Nor mine,” Jon confessed and they both fell silent.

Sansa shifted in her spot in the hay, “Were you… were you happy as a child?” she asked tentatively.

Jon said nothing in response… and was silent for so long she began to fear she had made him angry. Sansa was about to recant the question when he sighed deeply.

“There were happy days,” He said, “And when I look around at the lives and hardships faced by many of our tenants, I know I was luckier than most despite the unhappy days.”

Sansa nodded.

“And you? Were you happy?” He asked.

“I was happy here,” Sansa said softly, “Arya, Robb and I used to play in this barn, hiding in the hay bales… Arya could get lost… she was so little…” Sansa took a breath, “When they died I did not think I could be happy again… I don’t think I have been… though as you say, we are perhaps luckier than most,” Sansa looked at him then, “But what are all the riches and privileges in the world compared to being loved? There is nothing that can make up for the lack.”

Jon stared at her, his eyes shining as if her words had nearly brought him to tears. She quickly looked away from him. She wondered what he was thinking. Had she the liberty to ask him?

Suddenly, the barn door swung open and one of the staff stepped inside, communicating to Jon in a few lines of clipped Gaelic. Jon responded in kind, and Sansa wondered what was said, as the servant handed Jon a letter.

“What is it?” She asked.

“We’ve received an invitation,” Jon said with a furrowed a brow.

“To what?” Sansa inquired, trying to catch a glimpse of the contents of the invitation, but it appeared to be in Gaelic as well.

“A stuffy ball,” Jon said with disdain, “With some of the landed gentry here abouts.”

“We were both invited?” Sansa asked curiously. She had only been here a little over a week, how did anyone know of her already?

“Aye, and I would certainly not go without you,” Jon grumbled, “I am not good company at balls.”

Sansa chuckled, “Do you not care for dancing and merriment?”

“No,” Jon got a teasing glint in his eye, “As Sam likes to remind me, I like to be sullen and brooding and no fun at all at parties.”

Sansa laughed, and took the invitation from his hand to examine it, “It’s in Gaelic?”

“Aye,” Jon said, “Do you know it?”

“No,” Sansa said, “We learned English first as children, mother was English, and we began to learn Gaelic later, though I’m afraid I’ve forgotten more than I ever knew,” Sansa sighed, “It was my father’s language, the language of Scotland and served me no purpose in London.”

“Well, _boireannach_ , perhaps we’ll have to teach it to you again,” Jon grinned at her.

“What does it mean?”

“Woman,” Jon’s grin broadened, and Sansa laughed.

“And how do you say man?”

“ _Dhuine_.”

“And husband?”

“ _C_ _èile_ ,” said Jon.

Sansa repeated each word, though they did not sound quite the same coming from her lips. She had lost whatever Scottish accent she had once had long ago.

“It sounds so musical,” Sansa said, “Or perhaps I romanticize it because it reminds me of home… and father.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Jon assured, as Ghost nudged at him now instead of Sansa. Standing to his feet, Jon offered her his hand to help her up, “Lunch?”

“Aye,” Sansa mimicked his accent with a teasing grin and took his hand.

* * *

Late that night, Sansa woke startled, feeling Jon rising quickly from bed. Sansa sat up.

“What is it?” She asked.

“The maid said Tormund is asking me to come down to the barns.”

“What’s wrong?”

“One of the ewes in struggling,” said Jon as he rushed from her room to his to pull on his boots and work breeches. Sansa got up and pulled on a robe and her own shoes before following him.

“I’ll come with you,” She said.

“You should sleep,” He replied.

Sansa touched his arm, “Let me help you.”

Jon looked at her for a moment before nodding and taking her hand.

The night air was crisp and cool, and Sansa wished she had grabbed a blanket but would not turn back now. They were met at the barn by Tormund, who tended their horses and lived on the premises, not having the delicate touch needed as a shepherd.

“The ewe seems to be struggling,” Tormund said gruffly, scratching his big red beard. As they entered the barn, Jon immediately took charge of the situation. The ewe was giving birth and bleating loudly, and even Sansa’s untrained eye could tell the creature was in distress.

“Easy girl,” Jon stroked the ewe’s side, and slowly moved to examine her. Sansa was surprised that Jon did not employ a shepherd at night especially during the lambing seasons. She vaguely recalled her father doing such a thing, but she further knew that Jon liked the work and liked being involved. Perhaps he thought it wasteful to hire someone at night when he was as capable as their shepherds?

Sansa watched in awe as Jon worked with confidence and calm. She stood to the side and awaited any order he might give her. When none came, she merely watched.

“Is she going to be alright?” Sansa asked.

“Aye don’t worry lass, your man knows what he is doing,” Tormund bellowed with a chuckle. The sight was messy, but Jon seemed undisturbed, completely focused on his task.

“Sansa get a blanket,” Jon commanded her, indicating a shelf of old blankets on the wall, used for lambs. Quickly, Sansa retrieved a few and as soon as she brought them to Jon’s side, he pulled the lamb free of its mother and deposited in Sansa’s arms.

“Dry her off and keep her warm,” Jon instructed as he continued to tend to the sheep.

Sansa did as she was bid but the newborn baby lamb did not seem very responsive, “She’s not making any sounds,” She said in alarm as she tried to rouse the lamb.

“Keep rubbing her down, and try to get her to stand,” Jon ordered.

“Come on now, little one,” Sansa crooned at the lamb, “Be strong for me.”

She rubbed the lamb’s sides trying to coax it, and finally the little lamb bleated loudly for its mother and she released a sigh of relief. She put the lamb on its feet near its mother so that it could suckle.

“Another successful night for Jon Snow, king in the north,” Tormund said with a hearty laugh, clapping Jon on the shoulder. Jon only laughed, and continued to work, making sure the ewe and her brand-new lamb were settled.

Sansa sat down in the hay and watched Jon and Tormund clean up. She felt weary, the rush of anxiety at having been woken in the middle of the night beginning to fade, and Sansa knew she would sleep well tonight. When they were done cleaning up, and ensuring the lamb was warm and dry, Tormund bade them goodnight and Jon sank down into the hay beside her and to her surprise he put an arm around her shoulders. They sat in silence awhile watching their sheep.

“You’d make a good shepherd,” Sansa finally said.

“And you’d make a good shepherd’s wife,” He chuckled.

“Do you often get woken in the middle of the night to save lambs?”

“Not often,” Jon said with a grin.

“You are good at this, truly,” Sansa said, “Like you were born to it.”

She did not mean the words harshly, but she could tell they stung him.

“I know this estate; this life was meant for your brother…” Jon said looking down at the hay. Sansa gently touched the hand he still had resting on her shoulder.

“Yes, but Robb is gone, no matter how much I may wish it otherwise,” Sansa said firmly, “And you are here now…”

“I feel like a thief sometimes,” Jon confessed quietly, “Like I’ve stolen someone else’s life, stolen your home.”

“You brought me home, you’ve not stolen it,” Sansa said, “You’ve given it back to me and my father’s grandchildren.”

“Sansa…” Jon started but seemed to turn shy on her.

“Yes, Jon?”

“Do you….” He stammered, raking a hand through his wild curls, “Do you… um, do you wish for children?”

Sansa blushed at the straightforwardness of the question, but she supposed husbands and wives spoke of such things. She expected children from their union.

“Yes, I think I should like to be a mother,” Sansa whispered, feeling nervous under his gaze, “Do you wish for children?”

“Aye, I’d like to be a father one day, to build the happy home I was denied in my youth.”

“Home,” Sansa sighed at the beautiful word.

“ _Dhachaigh_ ,” whispered Jon.

Sansa looked into his eyes and repeated, “ _Dhachaigh_.”

* * *

When Sansa woke the golden sunlight of dawn was spilling into her bedroom, leaving rivers of gold across the floor and bed. To her surprise, Jon was still abed with her. Usually after their nights of reading, he woke long before she did and left, or perhaps he left after she fell asleep… she did not know and would not ask. Last night had been different… after they had returned from the barn and washed themselves, Sansa had assumed Jon would return to his bed and she to hers, but to her surprise, he had crawled into her bed with her as if he had done it everyday of his life. It was a strange thing, Sansa thought, to wake up with a man in her bed. They had not woken together since the morning after their wedding. They had been in his bed then, rather than hers, and Sansa had not returned to his room since… he always came to hers. They had been married over a week now and they were falling into customs and habits, that Sansa wondered if they would continue as the newness wore away. His body was pressed close to hers, closer than she would have liked if he had been awake, but he was not. He was asleep and she was curious. One of his strong arms lay heavy across her waist. They had woken much more intimately the morning after their wedding, when Jon had nearly been atop her. She blushed at the memory. Being careful not to bump him, Sansa turned slowly to face him. His arm still rested on her waist and she was in no rush to move it. Studying his handsome features, she made note of a few scars, and how he looked younger and more peaceful in sleep. In the waking hours, he looked as if the weight of the entire world sat upon his shoulders. She was glad to see him restful. The sunlight played across his face and Sansa remained very still not wishing to disturb him.

The past week had been taxing for them both, she knew, as they had tried to adjust to being married. Sansa felt her emotions raw, even though Jon had been nothing but patient. Curiously, Sansa reached up and stroked one finger down his cheek, feeling his soft, bristly beard. When he started to stir, she snatched her hand away, not wanting to be caught. The hand resting on her waist tightened for a moment before his eyes fluttered open.

“Madainn mhath leannan,” Jon whispered in Gaelic.

“What does it mean?” Sansa asked, in an almost reverent quiet, not wanting the magic of the golden morning to be broken.

“Good morning,” Jon’s voice was gruff, and he gave her a sleepy smile.

“Good morning,” Sansa replied softly, not trusting herself to pronounce the Gaelic words correctly, “This is new.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed, his hand still at her waist, “Would you like me to leave?”

Sansa took a steadying breath, “No,” she said, but did not explain. For the span of a few moments they lay there, face to face, staring at each other. An indiscernible look passed across Jon’s face.

“You are quite beautiful,” He said.

“So are you,” Sansa replied with a grin, both their voices still in hushed morning whispers.

He blushed, like a boy, and smiled sweetly at her. His hand still rested firmly on her waist. Sansa brought her hand up and brushed her finger across his cheek once more. A rumbling sound emanated from Jon, almost a soft growl.

“We might should get up,” Jon said, his voice oddly strained now.

Sansa could only nod, still rooted to the spot. The hand that had been still on her waist, gently brushed up her ribcage then back down again until it rested a little lower on her hip. Jon never took his dark, intense eyes from hers. She felt like he was staring into her heart.

“We should get up,” She repeated his sentiment.

“Aye,” He said, but neither of them seemed able to move. Sansa felt her heart start to beat a little faster. Jon’s eyes studied her, and Sansa saw desire in them. _Did he want her? Did she want him?_ Her heart thundered in her chest. She waited; not sure she could move her legs. They did not love each other, this she knew, but she further knew love was not a prerequisite for desire. Jon’s hand tightened on her hip, and Sansa took a breath. She did not know whether to move closer or pull away. There was a strange current running between them, a magnetic pull, that kept them beside each other in her bed. Sansa had never felt this way before. The hand Jon had on her hip flattened on the small of her back, inching them closer together. Jon’s eyes bore into hers and she thought he might kiss her. _Did she want him too?_ He leaned toward her and brushed a kiss across her forehead. Sansa’s eyes fluttered closed at the gentleness of the gesture.

“Thank you for helping last night,” he whispered.

“I did little, merely held a lamb,” Sansa said, unaccustomed to thanks and praise, “You did the work.”

Jon inched a little closer, and she could feel the warmth emanating from his body, “I am unused to sharing my work,” He said.

“What is a wife for but to share it?” Sansa asked, beginning to tremble.

Slowly and tenderly, Jon pressed his lips to hers. It was tentative, a testing, as if he was as curious about her as she was of him. She had only ever been kissed with aggression, never with this gentle coaxing. Sansa did not know how to respond, or what to do with her hands, and did not know why her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. In an effort, that seemed to pain him, Jon sat up abruptly, leaving her breathless and confused. He looked equally breathless and confused. Sansa sat up beside him, feeling the magic disappear and they were strangers once more.

* * *

The next day, Sansa rose early and alone. Jon was not at the breakfast table and she was not sure what to make of that. Deciding to check on the lamb they had delivered together, Sansa strode toward the barn. She and Jon had barely spoken a handful of words, since they had woken yesterday, and he had kissed her in bed. She did not want to admit how disappointed she had been when he did not come and read to her last night. Jon may not love her, but if yesterday morning had been any indication, he desired her. She knew men had needs and though she feared it, she was willing to fulfill Jon’s needs as his wife, though she doubted desire would grow for her. Yes, Jon was handsome and kind, but she knew nothing of desire, and surely it was too soon to know.

“Madainn mhath, ma’am,” interrupted a voice and she looked up to see good-natured Podrick walking toward her, with a lamb around his shoulders. The words he spoke were similar to what Jon had said to her in bed yesterday, but somehow not quite the same. Jon had used an extra word when he told her _good morning_. 

“Good morning,” Sansa greeted, “How do you say it?”

Podrick smiled, “Madainn mhath.”

Sansa tried to pronounce the words, and failed, making Podrick chuckle.

“Keep at it, ma’am,” He said, “You will get there.”

“I so badly want to learn,” Sansa confessed to the young shepherd.

“What have you learned thus far?”

Sansa repeated the two- or three-words Jon had spoken to her that she could remember. 

“Uan,” Podrick said, motioning to the lamb in his arms.

“Uan,” Sansa repeated.

“Uan if for lamb,” He explained, “Caoraich is for sheep.”

“Caoraich,” Sansa repeated but butchered the pronunciation. Podrick’s shy smile was completely disarming and she found space to laugh at herself.

“A valiant attempt, ma’am,” said Podrick.

“Where are you taking the lamb?”

“Back out to the pasture, this little one got separated from its mother, I’m making sure they are reunited.”

“You can tell them apart?” Sansa asked curiously, as she reached up to pet the lamb.

“Aye, ma’am,” said Podrick, “I spend the better part of my days with them.”

“Do you like shepherding?”

“It’s all I know.”

She smiled, “You grew up here abouts then?”

“Aye, its my home.”

Sansa remembered the word for home, “Dhachaigh.”

Podrick laughed, kindly, “Aye, dhachaigh.”

“That will be all Pod thank you,” Jon’s voice behind them caused them both to startle. Sansa studied him for a moment, he had an odd look upon his face that she could not decipher.

“Yes, sir,” Podrick scurried away, whistling as he went. Sansa had a mind to scold Jon for being rude, but neither Jon nor Podrick seemed perturbed in the slightest and so she bit her tongue. She had no wish to anger Jon. They stood there staring at each other for a few beats, and Sansa wanted to ask him why he had not come to read to her last night. Had she upset him in some way? She could not bring herself to ask.

“Did you sleep well?” She asked instead, not trying to be coy, but it was the only question she could muster.

“I’ve slept better,” Jon admitted.

Sansa could only nod her agreement as she looked down at the ground, “As have I.”

Their eyes met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon POV


	11. Toilichte (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and for your enthusiasm for this story! Your comments have absolutely kept me motivated! 
> 
> Here is the next little chapter, getting into Jon's head a little bit before the ball. I hope everyone enjoys!

Jon could not account for his agitation as the day of the ball drew closer. He had never been fond of balls and parties. He imagined, however, that Sansa would dazzle. She was different than he expected, though his expectations had been few. Their marriage thus far had not been the chore he had originally feared it could be. Sansa was easy to spend time with and he looked forward to seeing her each day. They were building an easy and comfortable friendship, which he feared he may have marred when he woke with her the other morning and nearly let his appetites carry him away. It had been so very long since… since… _Ygritte_ … and Sansa had been so very pretty and soft, her big blue eyes studying him had nearly been his undoing. Jon knew, though, that when they took that final step as husband and wife, she would require time and care. She had looked fearful that morning, and it made Jon uneasy that she might be frightened at the prospect of their union. He wished he could get his hands on this Marillion or Hardying. He wanted to beat them bloody. Sansa wanted children, she had said as much, but Jon would not take her if she were afraid of what he would do to her. Therefore, he had ceased his nightly reading to her, not wishing to impose upon her, and imagined she was likely happy to no longer be sharing her bed with a stranger.

From the window of the parlor, he watched as Sansa played with Ghost in the yard. She was quite striking, especially in these uninhibited moments when she believed no one was looking at her. She had wisps of hair falling about her forehead, and she laughed as she and Ghost took turns chasing each other. Ghost was likely pleased to have someone who could give him the extra time. Jon frowned when he saw her fall, and almost dashed out to check on her, but halted himself when she sat up laughing, only to be tackled to the ground again by Ghost who wanted to play. Jon shook his head in amusement. Then Sansa turned her face to the sun and her eyes slid closed, and she smiled. She reached up and unbraided her mussed braid and shook out her long beautiful red hair.

Davos chuckling behind him, shook Jon from his reverie, “She’s certainly a lovely lady, and she seems contented here.”

“Yes,” Jon agreed, not specifying that he was agreeing with both sentiments. Sansa was indeed lovely, and he hoped she was content here.

“I imagine she will enjoy going out to the ball,” Davos said as he came to stand beside Jon, “It will be good for her to be out in society.”

Jon nodded, though he himself did not particularly enjoy being out in society, “She’d likely have a better time with a partner who danced.”

“You dance,” Davos chuckled.

“Not willingly and not well,” Jon grumbled, “Sometimes I think I was not born to genteel society.”

“And you are afraid she will like you less for it?” Davos teased, though Jon detected a sincere question there. Jon raked a hand through his hair.

“She’s a proper lady, regardless of her former circumstances,” Jon said.

“And you’re a proper gentleman, or have you forgotten?” Davos reminded him.

Jon chuckled ruefully.

“Speaking of the lady’s former circumstances,” Davos began, “I have wondered how it is that someone with the means of Ned Stark, did not better provide for his last remaining child in the event of his death on the continent.”

Jon sighed, “I have been looking into that myself, Davos.”

“And?”

“I have my suspicions and a few documents…” Jon trailed off. In truth, he was not ready to share his suspicions, further he did not want Sansa catching wind of those suspicions or how he had chosen to deal with them.

Davos seemed to sense his reticence and did not pry. Jon continued to watch Sansa, as she was now laying in the grass, with Ghost beside her, staring up at the sky. He could tell by the movement of her mouth that she was singing, and he wondered what song.

* * *

Their meals together had been rather quiet, ever since the morning he had kissed her, still he enjoyed her company… it was far better than eating alone. He had rarely felt a need for company, having always been more comfortable on his own, but Sansa brought something to the atmosphere that he had not known he was missing. He could not quite put his finger on it, but he was beginning to feel a curious loneliness when she did not take her meals with him.

“Did you have an eventful day?” Sansa asked softly, with hesitant eyes, as if she was not sure how he would respond to such a query. Jon knew he could be too solemn and lost in his own thoughts, he hoped he did not bore her.

“Eventful enough,” Jon said, pushing food around on his plate with his fork, “Glad to be home.”

She gave him a soft smile, “You like being home?”

Jon could not tell if it was a question or a statement, “Aye. Davos likes to accuse me of being old before my time.”

Sansa’s eyes twinkled with mirth, “Well with age comes wisdom, or so they say, so being old before your time is no bad thing.”

Jon smiled at her unpracticed sweetness. He had often found cause to marvel over the last few weeks that she remained so kind when the world had treated her so poorly.

They fell quiet again, and Jon felt the silence strained as he was no great orator and he could not tell if she was too shy or too scared to ask him too many questions.

“I’ve accepted our invitation to the Manderlys’ ball,” Jon said, looking down at his plate.

“Have you?” Sansa asked curiously, “I thought you had no taste for balls.”

“Nevertheless, I go,” Jon said, “Many of the old families do business with us, and I shan’t want to insult them.”

Sansa nodded in understanding.

“And…” Jon hesitated, “And… I thought you might enjoy going out… meeting our neighbors…”

“I shall like to meet our neighbors,” Sansa said with a sweet, sad smile, “But I’m afraid my love of balls left me long ago.”

“You find no joy in balls?”

“I found joy in balls, when balls were my only joy,” She said without further explanation, but Jon understood. He also smiled to realize that she might now have other joys.

“Well, I suppose we shall both be content to speak with our neighbors, and leave early,” Jon said with a grin hoping to ease the tension.

Sansa giggled, “Yes… though, I think I should like to see you dance.”

Her boldness took him by surprise, but he smiled, “I’m afraid I dance poorly.”

“Will you…” Sansa looked down at her plate, a slight blush to her cheeks, “Will you… dance with me at the ball?”

“If you wish it,” Jon said, “Though I’m afraid your toes may be the worse for it.”

“You cannot be so terrible.”

“My eccentric Aunt Dany taught me to dance,” Jon laughed, “And I’m afraid, she was no better at it than I.”

Sansa’s musical giggle, made him smile, “I can help you.”

Jon looked up at her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. She was so painful genuine in a terribly false world, and he did not always know what to say to her.

“You would teach me to dance, my lady?” Jon asked, grinning at her.

“If you wish it,” She echoed his words before looking back down at her plate.

“I don’t know,” Jon teased, “Should you teach me to dance too well, perhaps all the maidens in the county will want a dance at the ball?”

“I am a good teacher,” Sansa said seriously, though her eyes twinkled, “Though perhaps not that good.”

Jon laughed and they lapsed into silence once more. After a span of a few seconds, and not wishing for their conversation to be over, Jon returned her question, “And you? Did you have a good day?”

Sansa smiled softly at him and nod, “Indeed, I spent the morning hours working on the books, then I went for a walk with Ghost, the poor thing, as he told me you were too busy for him today,” Sansa looked up at him with a smile, and Jon chuckled.

“Did he now?”

“Yes,” Sansa giggled, and Jon was happy to see her looking more at ease, “I finished the afternoon with Cook teaching me to make scones.”

“You made scones?”

“Yes,” her shy smile was endearing, and Jon felt a curious warmth steal over him.

“Will we eat them?” Jon asked.

“Not until breakfast,” Sansa replied.

“Not for dessert then?”

“Cook made pudding for dessert.”

Once pudding was had, and dishes were cleared away by their kitchen maid, Jon offered Sansa his arm as they walked into the parlor. Their evenings together had still been stilted and Jon wondered occasionally at Sansa’s reticence. There were times when she seemed bold and curious, while other times she was quiet and reserved, almost as if she were afraid how he might react if she asked to many questions. While Jon was typically a quiet man, he certainly did not begrudge her any questions, though he thought perhaps that he should procure a few himself so that they might know each other better. Jon sat down in front of the hearth, and Sansa seemed a little lost, as she did sometimes when they were alone together.

“Shall I play something?” Sansa asked, indicating the piano.

“If you wish it,” Jon said, not wanting her to feel that she had to entertain him. Sansa nodded and sat down in the chair opposite him instead and looked into the fire. Picking up the newspaper, Jon began to read, occasionally stealing glances at Sansa as she sat opposite him.

“What news of the world?” Sansa asked.

“The usual,” Jon sighed, “Unrest in France, Parliament in uproar, more clearances in the highlands.”

“It seems the world does not change,” said Sansa.

Jon sighed, “France will be France, and Parliament will be Parliament, but these clearances give me concern.”

“What does it mean?”

“Landlords are raising rents, some for justifiable reasons and others not, to the point where many of their tenants cannot pay, forcing them to leave their ancestral homes in such of work elsewhere,” Jon explained.

“Where do they go?”

“Some to the quarries, some to fishing, and some to kelp, though the kelp industry has bottomed out recently,” Jon said.

“Are our tenants in danger?”

“I do not foresee needing to raise rents in the near future,” Jon said, “Sheep and barley have sustained Winterfell for generations, as you well know, though I do fear for our tenants at times though should famine strike here.”

“Has it elsewhere?”

“In some regions,” Jon said, “But our tenants grow potatoes mostly, and potatoes are a sturdy crop.”

Sansa nodded. Jon imagined, as she grew up in such genteel society in London, she was likely often shielded from the true state of world affairs, as was common with gentleman’s daughters. Jon, however, admired her curiosity. Sansa was bright and energetic, and though he did not know her well yet, all he knew thus far said that he had found himself an able partner, if not a lover.

“Perhaps we should encourage them to diversify their crop?” Sansa said, to his surprise, “Is that a done thing?”

“Aye it’s a done thing and can occasionally stave off starvation in the face of famine.”

“But not always?”   
“No, not always,” Jon said honestly, “Most times famine is not a respecter of crop or person.”

She nodded, “They live hard lives.”

Jon could only offer her a small smile, his heart softened at her compassion, when she herself had been so neglected and abused, though privileged she may have been.

“Are you…” Jon started, not sure if he could ask the question.

Sansa’s deep blue eyes met his, “Yes?”

“Are you… um… happy… here, I mean? Are you happy here?” Jon stammered feeling like a green boy all over again.

“Happy,” Sansa smiled a secret smile, “How do you say it?”

“ _Toilichte_ ,” Jon said softly in Gaelic.

“Toilichte,” Sansa repeated, “I’ve not been so happy in a very long time.”

The statement was tentative, and Jon understood. She had not been here overly long, it was likely that she did not know if she was happy yet, and perhaps it was unfair of him to ask, but he would take whatever assurance he could get.

“Are you?” Sansa asked suddenly, in a whisper almost inaudible.

“Am I?” Jon repeated.

“Happy?” She elaborated, as she looked away from him and back into the fire.

Was he happy? Jon was not sure. Had he ever truly been happy? Vaguely, he remembered a pair of laughing green eyes and a tangle of wild, red curls, altogether different from the red hair across from him.

“I am content,” Jon said honestly.

Sansa smiled sweetly at him and nodded, “I’m going to ready myself for bed,” she finally said.

“Alright,” said Jon.

Sansa stood and hesitated for a moment, looking down at him, as if in expectation. _Did she want him to come with her?_

“Goodnight, Jon,” She said and patted his arm as she walked past him. Jon started to reach up and take her hand, but stopped, having missed the moment.

“Goodnight, Sansa.”

Then she was gone.

Late that night, after Jon had readied himself for bed, he could not find Ghost. After scouring the downstairs, he went back to his room and checked the study. Surely the old beast had not gotten inside and not returned? That would be very unlike Ghost. He entered the study to find it empty but saw that Sansa’s door was cracked open.

“Ghost?” Jon whispered into the dark study. Slowly, he approached Sansa’s bedroom door. Her light was out and so he knew she must be asleep. He cracked the door just enough to peek in, and he saw his large white wolf abed beside a soundly, sleeping Sansa. Ghost’s ears twitched, likely hearing Jon, but the dog did not move. Sansa had her arm around Ghost and her face buried in his fur.

“Spoiled dog,” Jon chuckled, and returned to his own room, though an unnamable part of him wished he could crawl into bed beside them.

* * *

Jon and Sam perused silks at the drapers, both out of their depth.

“We should have brought Gilly,” said Sam.

“Gilly is spending the day with Sansa,” Jon explained as if Sam did not know.

“Still, what do we know of silks and satins and all these ladies’ things?” Sam asked as if he had never before seen a woman in a dress.

“Sansa needs a dress for the ball,” Jon stated flatly, wishing Sam to understand his motivation for dragging him into town.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to send the ladies themselves?” Sam asked.

Jon sighed, “Do you know how hard it was to entice Sansa to purchase fabric for dresses for everyday use?”

“No,” Sam grumbled.

“I don’t think she’d come back with a ball gown if left to her own devices,” Jon chuckled, “She’s far too practical for that.”

“Or perhaps, you wish to surprise her?” Sam teased.

“And if I did?” Jon said nonchalantly, “Is it not a husband’s prerogative to please his wife? Is not Gilly pleased when you surprise her?”

“She is indeed,” Sam chuckled, “I’m just taken aback is all, considering not two weeks before she came you were doubting whether you could be… well… pleased by her.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I have found her to be companionable?” Jon continued to grumble not sure what Sam was going on about. He was merely trying to be an attentive husband. Just because he and Sansa did not love each other, did not mean they could not get on as friends.

“Did I say it was a bad thing?” Sam smiled good naturedly.

“No, I suppose you didn’t,” Jon ran his hand across a navy-blue silk, “What of this one?”

“I think Lady Sansa will be quite striking in that,” Sam smiled at Jon.

“It will match her eyes.”

“She has blue eyes, does she?” Sam said with another teasing smirk.

“Aye, Sam, you know she has.”

“Aye, I know it.”

“I don’t know what you are smirking about, but I would appreciate it if you kept your smirking to yourself,” Jon said irritably as he went up to the draper’s counter with the bolt of blue silk to make his order.

“Am I smirking?”

“Oh, shut up, Sam.”

* * *

When Jon and Sam returned, they found Sansa and Gilly playing in the yard with Little Sam. Gilly, heavy with child, sat on an iron bench watching. Sansa played chase with Little Sam making the young child squeal with laughter, not even noticing the return of his father and Jon. Sansa looked up at him and smile briefly, before returning her attention to the boy. Jon felt something squeeze in the direction of his heart.

“She’s a natural with him,” Gilly said, from her place on the bench. Sansa and Little Sam were far enough away that they could not hear. Jon smiled at her.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Quite well, glad to be out of the house,” Gilly said, “Sam here has been holding me hostage, and I still have a month yet.”

“It’s for your own good, love,” Sam kissed the top of her head, “Little Sam came early, and I don’t want you out in a field somewhere not knowing where you are.”

“You treat me like I’m made of glass,” Gilly protested, “Most women carry on right on up to their birth.”

“Maybe other men’s wives,” Sam said protectively, making Jon grin.

“And was your trip to town successful?” Gilly asked, ignoring Sam and turning her attention back to Jon. She knew what they had gone to town to procure.

“Aye, quite.”

“Good, I’m sure she’ll be pleased,” Gilly smiled, resting her hands on her swollen belly. Jon looked out at Sansa still frolicking with Little Sam.

They were interrupted by the maid, she curtsied to Jon. 

"A letter was left for you sir," She said and handed him an envelope. 

"Thank you," Jon took the envelope and dismissed the girl. Turning it over in his hands, he saw the unmistakable handwriting of his brother Aegon. He groaned... now was neither the time or the place to read anything from Aegon. Sighing, he pocketed the letter. It would keep. 

* * *

Long after their guests had left, and Sansa retired for the night, Jon lay in his bed unable to fall asleep. He still had not read Aegon's letter and did not particularly wish too, and so he had tried to put it behind him by reading but reading had brought him no pleasure tonight. He had started reading the book because of Sansa and it did not seem quite right to read it without her. Did she want to finish it? Did she still want him to come to her room and read to her as they had done? She had not said so, but would she? Perhaps, she feared him indifferent? Was he not indifferent? Turning over once more, Jon stared up at the canopy of his large bed, a bed obviously made for two occupants. Throwing aside the blankets he came to a decision, Jon stood to his feet, grabbed the book, and barged through his bedroom door and through their study. He stopped short in front of Sansa’s door and raised his fist to knock. He hesitated… he could just make out a sound on the other side of the door… it sounded like… it sounded like crying. Was Sansa crying? Jon felt his energies deflate and he tossed the book on his desk. Perhaps she was not happy here after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that was a somewhat cruel way to end the chapter, but I will update as soon as I can so we can know what is going on with Sansa, I hope you can bare with me! 
> 
> Next Chapter: Sansa's POV


	12. Unsettled Memory (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the next little bit, I had originally intended to make it through the ball in this chapter, but was afraid it would be another week before I could update if I did that. Anyway I hope everyone enjoys this little chapter, and I appreciate everyone's lovely comments and enthusiasm for this story!
> 
> On a side note, I'm a historian by training but 19th century Scotland is not my content specialty, and so I hope you can forgive any errors of fact when it comes to the historical events or culture in this story. I research when I am able, but do not always have time to fact check.

Sansa quieted herself when she thought she heard footsteps in the study. Was Jon still awake? She did not want him to see her like this, tears were only for when no one else could see her. She was not entirely sure what had come over her, these were tears of loneliness and heartache like she had not known in years. Trying to wipe at her eyes, Sansa pulled the blankets tighter around her. It was this place, this castle, resurrecting old wounds that she had long ago buried in a desperate act of self-preservation. From her time with the Baratheons, to her life with her aunt, to now, Sansa’s life had known such strange and often dreadful turns, sometimes she found it hard to believe the peace she had discovered here. Jon had been so very kind and patient, placing no demands on her save what she was willing to accept herself. She did not always know what to do with the freedom. She also did not know what to make of Jon’s disappearance from her bed at night. She did not hold his absence against him, she knew he did not love her. Perhaps he simply wanted to resume his privacy? She had not known him long but could already tell that he was a very private man. Still, the sudden distancing had confused her. He acted no different during the day and yet as evening approached, he drew away. She was not too proud to admit her loneliness, it was a constant companion for as long as she could remember, and she had learned to live with it. Jon’s nightly visits to read to her, however, had given her a cruel hope that things could be different one day, that though there be not love, there could be companionship.

Sansa startled when she heard a tentative knock on the door.

“Sansa?” Jon’s voice, soft and strong, called through the wood. Sansa leapt from the bed, pulling on her robe and hastily wiping at her eyes. She hoped he would not be able to tell anything was amiss. Taking a fortifying breath, she cracked the door open to find Jon standing there, brow furrowed in concern, his forearm resting on the door frame. Ghost immediately pushed past them both and made for Sansa’s bed, they both smiled for a moment.

“Yes?” Sansa looked at him. He raked a hand through his beautiful unruly curls. She was happy he did not powder his hair or wear the awful wigs that had once been the common fashion in the south and still lingered amongst some of the nobility. He was much more beautiful wild and natural, almost like Scotland itself.

“I…I… um,” He stammered, “I thought I heard…”

Sansa dropped her gaze to the ground. _Had he heard her crying?_ She felt her cheeks flush with shame.

“Is something amiss?” He finally asked.

“No,” Sansa whispered, “All is well, thank you.” She hoped the darkness covered her tear stained cheeks. She would have to take more care in the future to be quiet, if the need for tears ever arose again.

“Well, I’ll get Ghost, so that you may sleep,” Jon said tersely.

“He can stay if he wants,” Sansa whispered looking at the ground again, before bringing her eyes to him, “The nights are not so lonely with him.”

Jon and Sansa stared at each other. _Had she been too brazen?_ She took a fortifying breath. Jon only nodded and raked his hand through his hair once more. He continued to stare at her, before slowly reaching a hand toward her cheek. She started to draw back just as his fingertips gently brushed her skin.

“Are you lonely?” He whispered.

Sansa stiffened her spine and met his eyes, “Are you?”

He looked surprised by her boldness, and she was taken aback by it herself.

Dropping her eyes to the floor, Sansa started to shut the door, “My apologies, goodnight Jon.”

Jon’s hand prevented the door from closing, “You’ve naught to apologize for.”

“Still, you need not trouble yourself,” Sansa said, feeling a sting of strange bitterness inside her. He sighed, as he did so often. She did not know if it was her who made him sigh, or if he was simply the sighing sort. His eyes looked so tired, as if he bore the weight of the world upon his shoulders. She imagined him as lonely as her but doubted he would ever share such a thing.

“Do you think yourself so troublesome?” Jon asked with a hint of irritation in his voice.

Sansa straightened, feeling something akin to anger, growing inside her, “I’m tired, I’ve no wish to discuss my thoughts.”

“God, woman, I cannot read your mind,” Jon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Nor I yours,” Sansa said, unable to keep the bite from her tone.

They stared at each other for a few heavy moments.

“Goodnight, Jon,” Sansa finally broke the silence and made to close the door. His dark eyes were stormy, but he did not prevent her retreat. Sansa shut the door firmly and slid to the floor in front of it. _What harm would it do her to tell him that her heart ached for her family tonight? Would it be so terrible to invite him back to her bed?_ Sansa leaned her head back against the wood and listened to Jon’s heavy footsteps stride back to his chamber, and then heard the open and close of his door. Sansa felt a few more wayward tears slip down her cheeks.

* * *

Laughing, Sansa plodded along with Podrick and Grenn and Pyp toward the pastures, carrying a basket of bread and cheese and water. She had not seen Jon in nearly two days, and was not entirely sure where he had gone, and she tried to tell herself she did not care. He was a stranger to her, a kind stranger yes, but still a stranger. Looking around at her merry companions, she supposed she was surrounded by kindly strangers.

“Careful on the rocks, Mistress,” Grenn growled, “T’wouldn’t be fittin fer Jon’s lady to twist an ankle.”

Sansa chuckled, “I’ll be careful.”

“I’ve never known a fine lady like you to go mucking about in pastures with the field hands,” said Pyp with an almost flirtatious smile. Sansa could only shake her head.

“And ‘ow many fine ladies do you claim to have known, Pyp?” Grenn bellowed with an uproarious laugh.

“Do not mind him, Lady Snow, he’s devoid of any manners a’tall,” Pyp cast a glowering look at Grenn, and Sansa had to hide her laugh.

“You needn’t call me, Lady Snow,” Sansa said, “I have heard you call Lord Snow by his given name.”

“Aye, that we do, he say he do not like to be called Lord Snow, says he has no taste for it,” Grenn laughed proudly, “But I reckon, he’d take a whipping to us if ever did we call you by your given name, Mistress.”

Sweet and quiet Podrick shook his head and smiled, “I do not think Jon is like to take a whipping to anyone, it’s not his way, but still I reckon he’d prefer us to give honor where honor is due, my lady.”

Sansa smiled at the gentle young man and took his offered hand to help her down a rather large boulder. As they continued toward the back pasture, Grenn started howling a song in Gaelic and was occasionally joined in by Pyp. She found herself smiling. Sansa looked at Podrick.

“What does it mean?” she asked quietly.

Podrick chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, “Tis a drinking song, my lady, I’m afeared that Pyp may have the right of it when it comes to Grenn,” Podrick smiled at her, “He’s no manners fitting for a lady.”

Sansa giggled, “I’d not wish to impose on your goodwill, or your masculine pursuits, perhaps I should return to the house?”

“Nay, my lady, you promised us bread and cheese, we’d not send you back now!” Pyp protested having overheard her question to Podrick. Sansa laughed. She had not had much cause in her life to laugh and was happy to have found reasons to smile here.

They arrived in the back pasture, and the three young men set to tending the sheep, while Sansa picked flowers, intending to take them to her room. She had always loved wildflowers. As she wondered further away from the shepherds, Sansa found something about the forest calling to her. The tall trees that led further up the mountains. Closing her eyes, she imagined hearing her father play the bagpipes when she had been a very little girl. Ned Stark had not cared much for playing, but he did so to please his daughter. Sansa could almost hear them, as the wind caressed her face and she breathed in the scent of Scots pine trees. She tried to imagine his face… his voice… the way he said her name. _Nighean_ … it meant daughter… it was one of the only words she remembered from her youth. _Nighean_ and _Athair_ … daughter and father.

 _“Do not leave me, Athair,”_ Sansa had begged him, when he bid his farewells and knelt in front of her at the Baratheons.

 _“Nighean, I’d not leave you, t’was it not my duty,”_ He had said, _“I am soldier and I must go where my king commands.”_

The frost of winter had just been settling on the ground, and still he had knelt in front of her trembling form _, “Keep warm now, Nighean, winter is coming.”_ He had kissed her forehead and then he had left her.

Sansa had wept that day, and every day for a week after he left her until Mrs. Baratheon had seen fit to punish her for it, and Sansa soon learned to hide her tears.

Sansa nearly jumped out of her skin when her thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind her.

“I’ve been sent to shepherd you back to the flock,” Podrick said, “I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

Sansa turned to him, “I was lost in thought, my apologies.”

“It would not do for you to be getting lost out here,” Podrick explained, “Jon would not be pleased if we misplaced his wife.”

“Jon is not here,” Sansa said somewhat sourly.

“Is he not?”

“Not unless he’s hiding somewhere,” Sansa trudged along beside Podrick as they headed back toward the others. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, she did not mean to speak ill of her husband, especially not to their employees, “My apologies, Podrick, I misspoke.”

“I thought I saw Jon just this morning,” Podrick informed her with a furrowed brow.

“Perhaps he went to town,” Sansa said tersely, trying to cover her blunder.

“Perhaps,” said Pod, “He mentioned coming to the village tonight for the celebrating.”

“The celebrating?” Sansa asked curiously.

“Aye, we be having a feast and fire in the village to celebrate a marriage,” Podrick explained, “You be welcome to come, my lady, as I said, Jon spoke of coming himself.”

“The people… they would want us there?” Sansa asked, concerned, having never heard of tenants caring for their landlords. Uncle Petyr’s tenants despised him… but Jon was different. Old Nan had said he reminded her of Sansa’s father.

“Aye, we are all fond of Jon,” Podrick continued, offering his hand to help her surmount another boulder, “We’d all be pleased to welcome you.”

* * *

After cheese and bread had been eaten and the rest of the workday completed, Sansa followed Podrick, Pyp and Grenn as they trudged down to the village, leaving echoes of laughter in their wake. The sun was setting. She imagined she did not look fitting for a wedding, but the three young men assured her that she was suitable, though she highly doubted they would tell her if she was not. Further, she hoped Jon would not be angry with her for running off with their shepherds to the village. When she had lived with her aunt and uncle, they had forbidden her from going to the tenant villages, saying it was not safe for a lady to be out with the commons alone. Sansa did not imagine that Jon saw his people that way, but still it was not the done thing for a lady. She did not wish to incur Jon’s anger anymore than she already had, so early in their marriage.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but you look a trifle anxious, are you well?” Sweet Podrick asked.

“I am well, Pod, just concerned that I perhaps should have waited for Jon before walking down here with you all,” Sansa explained.

“You think he’d not like you walking with us?” Pod asked, with a confused expression on his face.

“No,” Sansa countered, then shook her head, “I don’t know… I don’t know what he would think, or what he does think…”

“I can walk you back…” Pod started to offer.

“No, no, I am fine, it’s fine,” Sansa assured, as much to herself as to Pod, “We don’t want to be late for the celebrating.”

The four of them made their way to the village and were joined along the way by Davos and who was undoubtedly Davos’ wife, as she clung to his arm and looked up at him with an adoring smile.

“Lady Sansa, I did not expect to find you with these rascals,” Davos chuckled good naturedly as he clapped Grenn on the shoulder.

“I’ve been out in the pastures today, and they were kind enough to invite me to the celebrating,” Sansa explained.

“And what has become of Jon?” Davos asked.

“I know not… I’ve not seen him today,” Sansa explained, excluding the fact that she not seen him yesterday either. When Jon Snow did not want to be bothered, he apparently found ways of disappearing. Sansa glanced at Davos’ wife.

“My apologies, my lady, this is Marya Seaworth, my lovely wife,” Davos introduced. The two women gave each other a slight curtsey.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Mrs. Seaworth,” Sansa said. Marya grasped Sansa’s hands and smiled.

“Call me, Marya, my dear, we are so happy you are here,” Marya explained, “I have so prayed for Jon to have a companion by his side…”

“Marya…” Davos started, with a hint of caution in his voice. Sansa smiled at Marya, and her heart saddened for Jon. He was lonely, she had suspected as much, and it was visible to all his friends and acquaintances… but not to himself it would seem. Could she be the companion he needed?

* * *

The little row of cabins and cottages was alight with laughter and music. Feeling herself grow shy as they entered this unusual world, Sansa stuck close to Podrick and Davos and Marya. They approached the bonfire and someone was playing the fiddle, people were dancing, and vittles were being passed around, as well as ale. Marya linked her arm with Sansa’s and led her to the food where the other women had congregated. That is when she spotted Jon, standing with Tormund and some other men, bellowing laughter and shouting stories at the wind. Jon’s wild black curls were loose, looking more a rogue than a gentleman, and he wore a kilt, as many of the other men did. When his eyes found hers across the crowd, he gave her that enigmatic half smile of his, and she could not see what he was thinking.

“Lady Sansa, this is Mya Stone, she’s about your age,” Marya introduced her to the raven-haired girl with bright blue eyes. Remembering her courtesies, Sansa curtsied, and Mya chuckled and curtsied in return.

“There be no need for bowing to me, my lady, we’re all here of common stock,” Mya said with a pleasant smile. Sansa felt her heart racing with nerves.

“You are right pretty,” exclaimed another woman.

“Thank you,” Sansa said.

“She looks like her mother,” said Old Nan who had appeared, leaning heavily on the arm of another young woman.

“I’m Dacey Mormont, ma’am,” said the woman who had said she was pretty, “And this be my sister Alysanne,” introduced the girl to whose arm Nan clung, “And it be our sister Lyra who is the bride.”

“Please to know you all, and I’m happy for your sister,” Sansa said.

“T’was Jon that made it all possible,” Alysanne said, “Gave the young lad a cottage to bring Lyra home to.”

Dacey chuckled.

“Are you wed?” Sansa asked the two women.

“Oh, lord, no, I’d not be caught by any man,” Dacey laughed and Alysanne’s smile said she agreed with her.

“I would have wed Jon!” exclaimed another voice, and Sansa’s eyes found a little girl, about twelve ears of age, glaring up at her.

Dacey and Alysanne both laughed heartily, “Pay her no heed, ma’am, this be our little sister, Lyanna, a right cheeky little thing, with no manners at all, and she’s had her eye on your husband since she was a wee babe.”

All the women laughed, and little Lyanna glowered angrily at them all. Sansa smiled at the little girl.

“Please to meet you, Lyanna,” Sansa greeted, “And though Jon may now be wed to me, I’m sure he’d honor you with a dance.”

The little girl’s stern eyes never wavered, but Sansa thought she saw a slight blush to her cheeks. Marya patted Sansa’s arm.

“You must come to our cottage and take tea with me some time,” said Marya, “I’ve given birth to seven children and not a girl among them, I could do with some female companionship.”

“I’d be honored, Mrs. Sea…Marya,” Sansa smiled, feeling her nerves starting to settle as she was met with kindness by everyone, even those who stared at her in blatant curiosity. Sansa flinched when she felt a hand grasp her elbow, albeit gently. She looked over her shoulder to find Jon standing beside her.

“Apologies ladies, might I steal my wife?” He asked the group of women who all smiled and acquiesced, though little Lyanna glared at them. Sansa obediently followed Jon, who had a tankard of ale in one hand and his other hand at her elbow.

“I was going to invite you tonight,” He said softly, in a dark corner away from prying ears, “But I could not find you.”

“Nor I you, and not yesterday either,” Sansa said trying to keep the sting of bitterness out of her voice but fearing that she failed when she saw the expression on his face.

“I had business in town yesterday and did not arrive home till late,” Jon explained, “Then today you were no where to be found.”

“After Cook and I went over our meal planning, I went out to the pastures with Pod, Pyp and Grenn,” Sansa said, tilting her chin up in defiance though she was afraid he would be angry with her.

“Aye, Cook said as much,” said Jon tanking another sip from his tankard. Sansa looked over the small crowd… their people… and smiled.

“They’re happy tonight.”

“Aye, a marriage is always cause for celebration,” said Jon and then their eyes met and they both blushed.

“Dacey said you were instrumental,” Sansa said, offering him a smile hoping to ease the strain between them.

Jon chuckled, and took another gulp, “Dacey exaggerates.”

“And I believe you think too little of yourself,” Sansa countered. He looked away and at the people dancing and making merry.

“The Mormont girls lost their parents some two years back,” Jon said, “It was the least I could do.”

“Still, I think they appreciate it,” Sansa glanced over at little Lyanna Mormont, “Especially Lyanna.”

Jon chuckled and shook his head at her, “Jealous?”

Sansa laughed deeply and eyed his cup curious about its contents. He offered it to her. Shyly, she took it, their fingers brushing for a moment. Their eyes met and she took a drink, and as soon as she did, she was sent into a coughing fit, as the drink burned her throat. Jon laughed, his smile bright and playful in a way that she had never seen.

“You have to drink a little more slowly with a good Scottish whiskey,” He said, laughter still lighting his eyes. She nodded but handed the cup back to him.

“What took you to town so long yesterday?” Sansa asked him, as they walked closer to the small crowd and Jon retrieved water for her.

“Business meetings, arranging for the selling of some of the new lambs,” Jon said.

Sansa frowned, and Jon chuckled.

“You did not think we would keep them all forever?” He asked.

“No, I suppose not, but I’ve grown rather fond of the creatures,” Sansa confessed.

“Well, there will be more lambs,” Jon said. They were quiet as the crowd continued in their celebration and they watched the definitively Scottish dancing, so unlike the southern dancing, and the dancing she imagined they experience at the ball.

“I received a message from my brother,” Jon suddenly said interrupting her thoughts of dancing.

“Oh?” Sansa quirked an eyebrow at him.

“He’s like to be here by the time of the ball,” Jon grumbled, “When Aegon sets his mind to something he will not be deterred.”

“And why should he be deterred?” Sansa asked curiously, “He is your brother.”

“Yes, but…” Jon raked a hand through his hair, “I’ve mentioned my family before…”

“Yes, but I did not think that your brother…” Sansa stammered.

“Not as bad as the rest of my family, but still, I have put distance between myself and them for a reason,” Jon explained.

“You do not wish him to come?” Sansa asked, hoping the question would not be taken as impertinent.

“I wish for peace, and time for you to settle…” Jon said.

“You needn’t fret over me, Jon, I’m your wife,” Sansa said, “I’ll do my duty…”

Jon’s eyes turned stormy, and he looked like he was about to say something but he was interrupted.

“Jon Snow! You and your little wife must dance!” Tormund descended upon them, clapping Jon on the shoulder. Jon chuckled and looked up at their stable hand.

“That will be up to the lady,” Jon grinned at her. Sansa looked at the dancing… she had never before danced in such a way and she did not know how.

“I don’t know how,” Sansa whispered to Jon.

Jon put his tankard down, and stretched out a hand to her, “I’ve told you before I do not dance well, but under the circumstances...”

Trying to hide her blushing cheeks, Sansa tentatively took his offered hand. Spinning her into the group of dancers, Jon led her as Sansa tried to imitate the other women dancing. They twirled, and clapped, and laughed as the fiddle and the flute played and the sun set under the highland mountains. Even Jon’s solemn face was alight with joy, and she wondered if it was the ale or if, for the first time, she was seeing him truly happy. She tripped and nearly fell but found herself caught up in Jon’s arms. They looked into each other’s eyes, and she could not help but think that perhaps they should have been shepherds after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Aegon comes for a visit, Sansa receives a gift, and the ball (POV undecided)


	13. Fairy Pools (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said the ball and Aegon's arrival would be in this chapter, but I solved my POV dilemma by splitting it into two again. Aegon's arrival and the ball will be from Jon's POV. Here is just a little bit more of Sansa settling and discovering... I'm working as fast as I can to get these two falling in love! I hope everyone enjoys!! Thanks so much for reading! Everyone's lovely comments, keep me so excited about writing this story!

Aegon’s impending arrival made Sansa nervous. _What did Jon’s relatives think of him marrying Ned Stark’s daughter?_ Sansa was not sure what to make of it herself… he had no obligation to care for her and yet he had written her and provided her a way of escape from her mother’s relations.

“Aegon is charming to be sure,” Gilly said after she had mentioned the impending arrival of her husband’s brother, “But he gives himself airs, of which I do not quite care for.”

Sansa nodded, as they walked through the garden together. Gilly’s time was drawing near, Sansa knew, but she was restless and could not seem to keep to her house in spite of Sam’s protests.

“He’s not much like Jon at all,” Gilly explained, “Not even in looks, Aegon is fair where Jon is dark, slight where Jon is strong. Though I have heard him called handsome.”

“I feel… unprepared to meet Jon’s relations,” Sansa confessed.

“In what way could you mean?” Gilly asked, looping her arm through Sansa’s, “You are an elegant and kind lady, mindful of courtesies and duty… what more could they ask for?”

“Most of my life, I have been passed over and petted as some pretty thing, with no voice of my own,” Sansa admitted with a sigh, “I was never taught the graces of being a lady of a great house, and I can barely remember my mother… What if… what if I shame Jon?”

Gilly gave her an incredulous look, “Do not think such a thing, for I know Jon is not.”

Sansa nodded again, though her nerves were still fraught, “What if his family hates me?”

“So, what if they do?” Gilly asked defiantly, “Jon rarely sees his family and does not much value their opinion, Jon’s is the only opinion you should concern yourself with.”

“Do you get on well with Sam’s family?” Sansa asked.

“Sam’s father has nothing to do with us, and his mother and sister were relatively cool toward me until I brought Little Sam into the world,” Gilly said, “A baby does soften some, particularly those of already warm natures.”

“Speaking of babes, should you really be out walking at this time?” Sansa asked, looking with concern on her friend’s large bump.

“Sam is over worried,” Gilly chuckled, “There are women who work in fields right up to their time and are none the worse for it.”

“Still…” Sansa said.

Gilly chuckled, “Are you worried you will have to deliver my baby right here in the gardens?”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush, “No, I’m just concerned for you is all.”

“When your turn comes, you will not want to be imprisoned in your home any more than I,” Gilly smiled and Sansa frowned, “What’s the matter?”

Sansa looked away, “Jon and I… we… we haven’t…”

Gilly gave her a soft smile, “The time will come. Do you want children?”

“Yes… yes…” Sansa stammered, “I think I’d like to be a mother… I’d like to have children of my own to love…” She did not add, _to make a family like the one I lost_.

“And Jon? Does he want children?” Gilly asked bluntly.

Blushing furiously, Sansa nodded.

Gilly giggled mischievously, “Then I suppose the two of you will have to set about making them at some point.”

Sansa laughed nervously at Gilly’s bluntness, and desperately wishing to change the subject, Sansa asked, “I suppose you and Sam will not be at the ball?”

“No, I will be even more so near my time then, and I don’t expect even I will want to leave the house,” Gilly explained as she rested a loving hand on her bump.

“When I was a girl, I was very fond of balls,” Sansa said as she ran her fingers along the velvet leaves of a plant in their garden.

“But no longer?” Gilly pressed.

“No, they hold nothing but bad memories for me now,” Sansa admitted, looking down at the ground.

“Well, perhaps, this one will redeem them for you,” Gilly said, “Though I will say stuffy balls given by the gentlefolk are never quite as lovely as we like to imagine.”

Sansa remembered the last ball she had been too… it was there that Harry had… that Harry had been forceful with her. After that night, balls seemed vacuous, and she had grown wary of men’s touch.

“I don’t know all that you have suffered, Sansa,” Gilly suddenly said as if she could read her thoughts, “But I do know, that Jon is not like the shadows that live inside your head, you can trust him.”

“Can I?” Sansa asked in a whisper.

“Tell him what shadows haunt you,” Gilly urged, clasping her hand in hers, “Tell him, and perhaps he may be able to help extinguish them.”

Sansa had already made mention of both Marillion and Harry… was she strong enough to tell Jon more? To tell him about the heartache, the loneliness and cruelty of her youth? Sansa only nodded at Gilly’s suggestion and they continued on through the garden, until Gilly’s restlessness finally abated, and she returned home.

* * *

Sansa peeked inside the study. Jon was not there, they often did their books together, as Sansa was still learning and occasionally still required Jon’s guidance. She was learning well, however, and she imagined she would be able to manage without his assistance soon. She supposed that would be easier for him, as he would no longer need for her to wait to catch up or listen to her questions. Sighing, she sat down in the chair beside his chair where he had made a space for her. All the shadows here followed her around during the day, and she was learning that Jon had shadows of his own. Perhaps they were both too broken to mend? Sighing, she set her mind to her books until early afternoon. Needing to stretch her legs, and find fresh air, Sansa grabbed her basket intending to collect some flowers for the study. She had a nice bouquet of wildflowers in her room but felt the study needed something living to the make the space a happy one. Before trudging out on her own, she informed Cook where she was going just in case Jon came looking for her, which she did not imagine him doing but did not want to worry him in case he did. Having decided to make her way to the back pasture by way of the village, Sansa hummed to herself and soaked in the sun and breathed deeply of the fresh air as she walked. When she looked up, she saw Mya Stone walking toward her.

“Morning, Lady Sansa,” Mya greeted pleasantly.

“Morning Mya,” Sansa smiled.

“No pressing matters of gentlefolk to keep you locked in the house?” Mya asked with a teasing grin, that made Sansa laugh.

“I’m afraid not, my afternoon is my own,” Sansa explained.

“Good day to you then…” Mya said.

“Good day…” Sansa replied and started to continue on her way, but stopped short, “Mya…”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mya turned back around to face her.

“Would you like to walk with me?” Sansa invited, “I’d much appreciate the company.”

“My company, ma’am?” Mya looked quite stunned.

Sansa laughed, “Yes, your company.”

“Aye, I reckon, I could walk for a spell,” said Mya, and fell into step beside Sansa.

The two women continued toward Winterfell’s back pasture, where Sansa knew there were blooms a’plenty to be had. She considered her companion. They were different. Sansa fair and red-headed, and Mya black of hair and sun kissed. Sansa was gently born, while Mya was common. Yet, Sansa was pleased to walk beside her, having never had much opportunity to befriend young women her own age.

“Are you from here, Mya?”

“Aye,” said Mya, “Born and raised.”

“And do your parents farm?”

“Me parents been long gone,” Mya said with a surprising lack of emotion, “Me Mum died when I was a little girl….”

“And your father?”

Mya chuckled, “Tisn’t a fitting story for a lady.”

“I lost my father…” Sansa started, wanting to sympathize.

“I don’t rightly know who be my father,” Mya blurted out.

Sansa tried to hide her own surprise.

“Have I scandalized you?” Mya laughed, though not unkindly, “Some say he was a gentleman, took advantage of me mum and then run off and left her with a babe in her belly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

“Me mum told me that she loved him, but he could not stay, that was all she ever told me of him,” Mya explained, “So I guess I’ll never know.”

“The world is not kind to women on their own,” Sansa said, knowing all too well the hazards of womanhood in this sordid world.

“Well, I shan’t be alone much longer,” Mya said with a secret smile.

“Oh?”

“I’ve got me a fancy lad myself,” Mya beamed.

“Someone from the village?” Sansa pried, though she knew it was none of her business.

“No, he’s from town,” Mya explained.

“What is his profession?”

“He’s of no profession, he’s gently born, like you,” said Mya.

Sansa’s heart dropped, “Has he declared himself to you?”

“No, but he’s likely to soon,” Mya said as she opened the gate to the back pasture to allow Sansa through. Sansa had heard stories of gentlemen taking advantage of lowborn girls and leaving them with nothing in the end… not even their virtue. Mya did not strike Sansa as the type to fall for such trickery, but still the matter worried Sansa greatly.

The back pasture was quiet, and Sansa could see the sheep and the shepherds wandering about, as she and Mya made their way to a thick patch of wildflowers. Sansa watched as Mya gathered up wildflowers and started to weave them into a circlet. Sansa imagined Mya to be a highland princess of old, who was beautiful like the mountains and the forest around them. She deserved better than living in a hovel and being alone in the world.

“Teach me?” Sansa requested, as Mya finished her wildflower crown and put it in her dark curls. Mya took her bundle of flowers and patiently showed Sansa how to weave them together.

“There now,” Mya said, crowning Sansa with the circlet, and laughing, “Now we can both be fairy queens for the day.”

Sansa giggled, “Aren’t fairies always supposed to be getting into mischief?”

“Some,” Mya said, quite solemnly, but then broke into another laugh, “And what would be wrong with a little mischief?”

Mya’s eyes twinkled with a mirth that Sansa almost envied.

“And just what are you laughing about Mya Stone?” Podrick’s voice interrupted them, causing both women to whip around to see him standing there with his shepherd’s staff and a shy smile upon his face.

“Fairy mischief, and not for the likes of you to be knowing, Podrick Payne,” Mya teased, and Podrick’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“There be a fairy pool, just over the ridge there,” Podrick said.

“Is there now?” asked Mya.

“Aye, they say enchanted, they say it’s where redheaded children come from,” Podrick gave Sansa a gently teasing grin, and Sansa felt herself blush.

“Well, you simply must show us, Podrick Payne,” Mya insisted, and the two women followed Podrick after he called his dog and herded the sheep he was tending toward the larger herd.

They struck out together, and climbed the ridge, and down again on the other side. The air had somehow grown still, as they descended into a cluster of trees. The sun beams through the thick tree branches illuminated their path, and the floor of the wood was covered in purple flowers. Sansa felt she could not speak or breath for the beauty of it all. Then the stillness of the air was broken by the trickling sound of water, not a rapidly moving body of water, but a soft trickle, as if frogs were jumping in and out of an otherwise undisturbed pool. They rounded a few trees, and that is when she saw it… a small pool of crystal-clear water at the mouth of a dark cave, surrounded by moss and trees. The purple flowers and mushrooms around the pool proved it’s enchantment, and instead of frogs, Sansa believed it to really be fairies diving in and out of the tranquil water. Mya smiled and boldly gave Sansa’s hand a squeeze.

“Don’t speak,” Podrick whispered to them, “Wouldn’t want the fairies to disappear.”

Sansa grinned, and felt heart ache with the beauty of it all. This was her home. Her Scotland… the Scotland she had dreamed about as a little girl crying herself to sleep in the south.

“You should sing them a song Podrick,” Mya suggested in a whisper, “And then perhaps they would not disappear, fairies like music.”

Podrick blushed, “I’d best be getting back to the flock…”

“One song…” Sansa said in reverent awe as she continued to gaze at the crystalline waters. Podrick sighed, and the two women sat down on the moss-covered stones and watched the waters, and the dark mouth of the cave as Podrick began to sing.

 _“High in the halls of the Kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…”_ the words were haunting, _“The ones she had lost and the ones she had found and the ones who had loved her the most…”_ continued Podrick,.

Sansa felt all mirth leave her.

_“The ones who’d been gone for so very long, she couldn’t remember their names…”_

Sansa tried to breathe.

_“They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain…”_

Sansa found herself blinking away tears.

* * *

Sansa closed the side door swiftly. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she threw open the kitchen door leading to the dining room. She hoped she was not late for dinner and was stopped short when she was met by Jon already sitting in the dining room, before she could make a dash for the stairs. He had a strangely bemused expression on his face. Sansa quickly smoothed her hair out of her face and realized she still had her crown of flowers in her hair, and she imagined she was filthy. She had not meant to be out so long. Ever since the celebration in the village, Sansa and Jon had returned to taking their meals together. She was not entirely sure what had happened before the celebrating nor did she fully understand what had happened since, but at least their mealtimes were no longer lonely. Though Jon had still not returned to her bed to read to her at night, she was contented at least to make do with what he was able to offer her. They were expecting Aegon either tonight or tomorrow, and his impending arrival had put both Sansa and Jon on edge.

“My apologies, Jon, I did not mean to hold up supper,” She apologized swiftly, hoping he was not angry with her. He smiled that enigmatic half smile of his.

“Have you been romping through the pastures again?” He asked with an odd sort of wistfulness to his voice that she did not fail to notice but did not understand.

“I’m afraid I have,” Sansa chuckled, trying to sound lighthearted, “Podrick showed me the fairy pool.”

He smiled, almost sadly, looked down into his cup, and nodded.

“The villagers say it is enchanted,” Sansa explained, “I had not known of it before, when… when…” She stumbled over the words.

He gave her that sad smile again, “Perhaps you can show it to me one day.”

Sansa nodded, feeling shy, “Let me wash my face and hands, and we can take supper.”

“Aye,” said Jon, looking once again into his cup.

Sansa scurried up the stairs to her chamber and swiftly poured water in the basin and scrubbed at the sweat and grime on her face and hands. When she was finished, she dried them and quickly removed her flower crown and tried and failed to put her hair into some semblance of order. As she was about to go back downstairs, she caught sight of a large box on her bed. _What could that be?_ She stopped short and approached it. The box had her name on it. _Of course it did_ , she chastised herself, _it was sitting on her bed_. Curiously, she untied the ribbon, and opened the box to reveal a silken, royal blue fabric. Sansa gasped softly and reached to pull the fabric from the box and realized, even in the dim light of evening that it was a dress… a proper ball gown. The sleeves had lace draped from them, and there were white flowers embroidered in silk thread on the bodice. She had never seen a dress so fine…

“I thought you might wear it to the ball,” Jon’s shy voice startled her, and she looked over at him.

“It’s beautiful,” She gasped in awe, holding it up to her frame.

Jon raked his hand through his hair, “The seamstress still had your measurements, and the fabric was a fair price.”

Sansa smiled at his blushing attempts to downplay his actions.

“I love it,” Sansa said, and Jon beamed at her proudly.

“I look forward to seeing you wear it,” Jon said, raking another hand through his hair, in what she was learning to be a nervous gesture.

“Truly?” she asked, feeling a hint of vulnerability creep into her voice. Was he truly eager to see her in such a fine thing?

“Truly,” Said Jon with a gentle smile. He took a step closer to her and surprised her by reaching up and tucking a stray red curl behind her ear, “And I think you should wear flowers in your hair.”

Sansa looked into his eyes, and he looked back at her. The hand that had touched her hand, gently brushed her cheek. Time seemed to halt for a moment, as they looked at each other… just looked. They had grown so quiet and still it was like the world had stopped around them, like the stillness of the fairy pool. _Perhaps it had been enchanted after all?_

Sansa and Jon jumped apart when they heard a door slam downstairs, and the scurrying feet of someone rushing up the stairs. Jon cleared his throat and messed his hair once more. A servant appeared at the open chamber door.

“Your brother has arrived, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Jon tersely, obviously flustered. He looked at Sansa, “That’s Eg, for you, not one to miss supper.”

Sansa chuckled and came to his side. He looked at her. Boldly, Sansa leaned in and kissed his soft, bearded cheek. He smiled at her, though his eyes seemed darker.

“Let us go and feed him then,” Sansa took Jon’s hand and together they descended to meet Aegon and whatever entourage was causing such commotion in the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Aegon's arrival and the Ball (Jon's POV)


	14. Duplicity (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the love you have shown this story. I read everyone's comments several times, because they make me happy and excited to keep working on this story! 
> 
> I'm not sure how this chapter turned, but I hope everyone enjoys!

Jon felt himself blush like a boy when she pressed her pretty mouth to his cheek. All he could think was how lovely she had looked stumbling into the dining room, eyes sparkling, hair windblown, and wearing that darling flower crown. Each day Jon found himself growing fond of her… growing accustomed to her presence in Winterfell. Now Aegon was here… no doubt in his full disruptive glory. Aegon’s letter had claimed he wanted to congratulate them in person on their marriage, and though Aegon’s heart could be in the right place he often left a destructive wake behind him. With Sansa, who looked fidgety, on his arm, Jon led them to the parlor.

“Brother!” Aegon exclaimed upon their entrance.

“Eg,” Jon greeted tersely though he allowed his brother to embrace him.

“And this must be your blushing bride,” Aegon bowed to Sansa, and Sansa curtsied.

“Sansa Snow,” Jon introduced.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sansa said with a kind smile.

“And I you,” Aegon grinned surreptitiously at Jon, “Always the redheads, eh, Jon?”

Jon had to bite his tongue to keep from scolding Aegon, and Sansa’s eyes met his, obviously confused by Aegon’s statement. Aegon only chuckled.

“Well, are you going to feed a weary traveler?”

“You’re just in time for supper,” Jon offered Sansa his arm once more and led the way into the dining room.

The meal was laid out and Jon observed how quiet Sansa had become as Aegon regaled them with tales of his estate in Edinburgh and his sojourn in England.

“Aunt Dany and my Martel cousins all want me to wed Arianne, they are all dreadfully annoying about it, that’s one of the reason’s I escaped up here,” said Aegon, “To taste the exotic beauties of Scotland.”

Aegon glanced at Sansa, causing Jon to bristle with anger.

“Seems like a good match,” Jon said casually taking a sip from his wine. Aegon needed a wife to settle him, he had always been restless. Jon knew Arianne, she could rule Aegon… if she could keep his eye from wandering.

“So you recommend the blessed state of marriage?” Aegon asked. Jon and Sansa exchanged glances.

Jon cleared his throat, “Aye.”

“And you, sister?” Aegon grinned at Sansa.

Sansa glanced at Jon, “It is agreeable.”

Aegon laughed, and cast a bemused look at Jon, “Seems you are falling short, brother, if all she has to say about marriage is that it is agreeable.”

Sansa looked dreadfully uncomfortable.   
“Shall we call for dessert?” Jon asked her, hoping to change the subject.

“Yes, please,” Sansa smiled at him, that sweet smile that he had come to find rather endearing. Aegon chuckled at them and took a swig of wine.

* * *

“She’s a sweet morsel,” Aegon poured himself a cup of wine when they had retired to the parlor, and Sansa had retired to her room.

“I’d appreciate you refraining from leering at my wife,” Jon growled.

“Don’t worry brother, I shan’t steal her from you,” Aegon sniggered, “You are the one always drawn to redheads.”

“On that note, I’d further appreciate it if you refrained from mentioning Ygritte,” Jon snapped, running a hand through his hair.

“Ygritte?” Aegon rolled his eyes, and poured Jon a glass of wine, “Who’s Ygritte?”

Jon scowled, as he was prone to do whenever Aegon visited.

“Oh, was she your chambermaid?” Aegon chuckled.

“You know very well who she was,” Jon glared at his brother. Aegon clapped Jon roughly on the shoulder.

“Aye, brother, I know,” The genuine kindness in Aegon’s voice at odds with his prior teasing, “Are you still pining for her? Locked away alone up here?”

Jon shook his head, “And if I were it would be none of your business.”

“You look at me like I’m to blame,” Aegon scoffed.

“Are you not?”

“Is that why you left Aunt Dany and Uncle Viserys to come live up here after you were discharged, all alone, to brood and blame us all for losing your beloved chambermaid.”

“Don’t call her that,” Jon said calmly and strode to the window, to look out at the dark courtyard.

“And did you marry the Stark girl to soothe your guilty conscious?” Aegon pressed.

“I have no guilty conscious, Sansa was a sensible match, and we both benefit from the marriage,” Jon said, feeling his anger with Aegon rising.

“Yes, of course, she is returned to her family home, and you, I’m sure, received a sizable dowry to take her off the Baelish’s hands,” Aegon scoffed.

“Mine and Sansa’s affairs are none of your business,” Jon’s voice had grown louder.

“My apologies, brother, I think we are both over tired,” Aegon smiled grimly, “I suppose I shall retire.”

“Indeed,” Jon kept his back to Aegon until he was sure he had ascended the stairs. Sighing deeply, Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose, put down his glass of wine, and snuffed out the candles before ascending himself.

His chamber was empty when he entered it and supposed Ghost had taken off with Sansa. Jon threw down his shirt and sat to take off his boots. Had Sansa not been such easy company, Jon might have been jealous that his old wolf seemed to prefer his wife’s company to his. Standing, Jon went to the study and made for Sansa’s door. He knocked.

“Sansa?”

No reply.

“Sansa?”

He knocked again softly. Surely, she would not be asleep already? It was still rather early.

“Is Ghost…” He started to ask through the door, as he heard movement.

“A moment!” Sansa's voice called, and he heard the distinct sound of water splashing, and then a loud crash, and a little cry of pain.

“Sansa?” Jon called. Ghost barked. Without fully thinking, only concerned about his wife’s welfare, Jon opened the door and strode through. When she caught sight of him, Sansa released a yelp of a different kind, and Jon stood frozen on the spot, not sure what to do. Sansa had indeed fallen, and sat upon the ground cradling her wrist, her naked body barely wrapped in a light linen having obviously fallen as she stepped out of the copper tub that was now in front of her hearth.

“Get out!” Sansa screeched at him. Ghost barked. Jon made a hasty retreat slamming the door closed behind him.

“Are you hurt?” He called through the wood.

“Go away!” She screamed.

“You fell quite hard,” Jon replied.

“I’m aware,” She snapped, more harshly than he had ever heard her sound. She sounded like she was in pain. They were silent for a moment.

“Sansa,” Jon said softly. There was a moment of silence.

“Jon,” came a plaintive little voice, the hesitation in her voice painfully obvious.

“Wrap your linen about you,” He commanded, before opening the door. Slowly entering, Jon found her still sitting on the floor, with the linen wrapped around her like a shield. She looked up at him, her blue eyes icey.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as he knelt beside her.

“It’s my own fault, I should have told you I was having a bath,” Sansa looked down at the ground.

“Are you hurt?”

“My wrist,” Sansa confessed, like she might a sin, and looked away from him. _Had she been so mistreated that all her hurts, even the physical ones, were neglected and treated as shameful?_ The thought made Jon angry.

“Anywhere else?” Jon asked gently, leaning his head trying to catch her eye.

“My hip, but I think it is only bruised,” She said softly, “My wrist though is quite painful.”

Jon retrieved a blanket from the foot of her bed, and returned to her, kneeling beside her once more. He wrapped the blanket around her and gave her a smile.

“Thank you,” She whispered.

Moving slowly, so as not to frighten her, Jon lifted her from the ground, making sure to preserve her modesty, and deposited her on the edge of her bed. He knelt on the ground in front of her. Without saying a word, he took the wounded wrist in hand, and gently probed the bone. She winced.

“Sorry,” He said and looked up to find her studying his face, “The bone feels sound, I think it may be just a sprain.”

She nodded. The air had grown quite thick around them. Jon thought he could hear their hearts beating.

“Let me take a look at your hip,” Jon said firmly. Her eyes widened in alarm, and it broke his heart. Laying her sprained wrist in her lap, Jon looked up at her, “I promise I’d never take something from you, that you did not give me freely.”

They stared at each other. Sansa studied his face, and he desperately wished he knew what she was thinking. The silence wore on for a few moments, until she finally started to lift the edge of the blanket, slowly revealing the porcelain skin of her leg. Jon took a breath. He averted his eyes, as she adjusted the blanket to make sure her more delicate parts were covered, before he put his hand on her. She flinched.

“Did that hurt?” He asked.

“No,” She whispered.

Jon could only nod. He assessed her leg in a matter of moments, and quickly re-covered her with the blanket. He was about to tell her that all was sound, but she would most definitely have a nasty bruise when she opened her mouth.

“Why don’t you come and read to me anymore?”

The straightforwardness of the question caught him off guard. He looked up at her. Her brow was furrowed. Jon sat back on his heels and sighed.

“I should call for Sam, to see to your wrist,” Jon said, avoiding the gauntlet she had put before him.

“My wrist will mend,” She stated firmly, “You did not answer my question.”

“No, I suppose I did not,” Jon looked up at her once more, “Sansa… I know ours is not a marriage made of love…”

She looked down at the ground now as if embarrassed by his words.

“I’d not force my physical attentions on you, where it is not desired,” He confessed feeling the sting of honesty, “When I kissed you that morning…”

She looked up at him, “It was… nice…”

Jon gave her a soft smile, “Aye, it was… but…”

“Love is a rare thing, Jon, if it is real at all,” Sansa said.

“Aye, it’s real Sansa.”

“Is it?” She asked, with such bitterness that he thought his heart might split in two.

“It is.”

“And if we never find it?” Sansa asked, bluntly once again, “Will we remain childless forever?”

Jon stood, “You want a child?”

“I want a family like the one I lost,” She whispered, looking up at him with her big blue eyes, vulnerable and scared, “I want the sound of children’s laughter to chase away the shadows that live inside these walls.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Jon said, running a hand through his hair, “Having a child would change things… making a child would change things…”

“And are we so content that a change would be unwelcome?” Sansa asked with steel in her eyes, but a tremor in her voice.

“And you want a child with me?” Jon could not help but ask, as he remembered how she smiled at Podrick in the pastures, and how she had stumbled into the dining room tonight wearing that flower crown.

“Who else would I want?” She asked, incredulously. For a moment, Jon could only look at her. _What could she know of want? She who had never been given the freedom to choose?_

Jon merely nodded, “Shall I fetch our reading?”

It was Sansa’s turn to sigh now, “If you wish.”

Jon found their book and returned to find her in her nightgown and robe. He settled on the bed beside her, and he began read to her once more. They spoke no more that night of children, nor love, but in those moments as he saw Sansa’s eyes droop and close, Jon felt peace and a little less alone in the world.

* * *

Jon and Aegon waited in tense silence at the bottom of the staircase. Ghost sat eyeing them as if he knew they were all about to leave for the evening. Jon heard a door close upstairs and delicate footsteps. He looked up to see Sansa Descending the staircase, looking like a proper queen. She wore the blue silk gown which matched her beautiful eyes, and her long red hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon with drop curls falling around her shoulders, and fastened in her hair were white roses that he knew grew in the hothouse. She was breathtaking… a woman… rather than a frightened girl. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she gave him a smile.

“You look…” Jon stammered.

“Ravishing,” Aegon supplied with his annoying chuckle.

“Beautiful,” said Jon.

Sansa smiled and reached for Jon’s arm, “Shall we?”

“Aye.”

Sansa clutched tightly to his arm as they entered the ballroom of the Manderly’s mansion, her eyes darting among the faces of their well to do neighbors. The air was stuffy and the music restrained and elegant. There were some faces less scrupulous about blatantly staring at Sansa. Jon knew that what appeared to be his hasty marriage to the last remaining Stark had been the center of much gossip.

“Ah, Lord Snow,” Mrs. Manderly exclaimed exuberantly and with a less than charming smile when she caught sight of them, “So good of you to come, and this must be your new bride…”

Sansa curtsied, “Pleased to make your acquaintance ma’am.”

“Well, I remember when you were little more than infant in your mother’s arms,” Mrs. Manderly chirped, “You are certainly a pretty thing. Younger than my Wylla but I’m sure you could be friends.”

Jon had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the duplicity of the aristocracy. The Manderly’s had been trying to promote their daughter, Wylla, to him for marriage for nearly a year. Jon knew they had been insulted when word reached them about his marriage to Sansa Stark. People like the Manderly’s believed the benefits of the match to be entirely one sided, as Sansa was alone in the world and he held Winterfell with or without her.

“Well, you must take some refreshment, my dear,” Mrs. Manderly said, “You look quite flushed…” the woman turned her gaze on Aegon, “And this must be your dear brother, so good of you to come.”

“My pleasure, ma’am,” Aegon bowed and kissed Mrs. Manderly’s hand, making her blush and fidget like a maiden.

“My dear brother indeed,” Jon grumbled, and caught Sansa’s eye. Sansa gave him a bemused secret smile.

“Jon Snow!” exclaimed another female voice, and Jon thought he might groan in agony, “We all wondered when you would bring your new bride out into society, since your wedding was such a clandestine affair we had begun to wonder if she actually existed!”

Jon turned to see the owner of the voice, Jeyne Poole, who approached them with a sly smile and immediately looped her arm through Sansa’s as if they had been friends for years.

“My father and your father used to do business together, or so Papa tells me,” Jeyne said sweetly.

“Well, aren’t you going to properly introduce everyone, brother?” Aegon demanded.

“Jeyne Poole, my wife Sansa Snow,” Jon then turned to Aegon, “And my brother Aegon.”

All the proper bows and curtsied were employed and Jeyne resumed her hold on Sansa’s arm. Sansa looked up at him, her eyes rather lost.

“We are going to be great friends, I’m sure of it!” said Jeyne to Sansa, “You need a proper guide to reintroduce you to Wintertown society.”

“I’m sure,” Sansa said flatly.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to all the important people you simply must know!”

Sansa looked at Jon once more, and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging nod, before Jeyne dragged her away.

“Wouldn’t let her get too far out of your sight,” Aegon elbowed him with a teasing grin, “She’s a pretty little thing, and all the lads here about will be clamoring for her favors.”

Jon was ready to level his brother.

“She looks like a startled doe,” interrupted the musical voice of another woman. Jon turned to see Margaery Tyrell staring at Sansa's wake, before her eyes traveled up and down Aegon.

“And what brings you to Scotland Miss Tyrell?” Jon asked, with a heavy sigh.

“My own fancy, I suppose, I rather like the robust men here abouts,” said Margaery with a flirtatious laugh, looking once again at Aegon, before turning her assessing eyes on him, “Wearing their kilts…”

“I had heard that you were engaged to some English nobleman or other, who would see you happily installed in London,” Jon asked.

“Oh, my father wishes me to wed some stuffy MP who holds a seat in Parliament, but I have my eyes on more exotic ground,” Margaery informed.

Jon took some wine from the tray of a passing servant, never sure how to respond to Margaery Tyrell’s bold attitudes. He did not dislike, per se, but he could never tell when she was genuine or when she was jesting.

“Are you not going to introduce me to your companion?” Margaery asked, looking once again at Aegon.

“Miss Tyrell, my brother Aegon,” Jon said tersely, with a roll of his eyes, as he saw Aegon leering at Margaery as if she were something to be devoured.

“Where have you been hiding him, Lord Snow? I did not know you had a brother,” Margaery said coyly.

“He tends to forget he has one, ma’am,” Aegon said smoothly, taking Margaery’s hand in his own.

Margaery giggled, “Well, since he’d rather forget you, perhaps he would not mind losing your companionship for the length of a dance?”

“By all means,” Jon said tipping his glass at the lady. Aegon grinned at him, and Jon shook his head as the two disappeared. Jon hated crowds, and the stuffy, duplicitous natures of the aristocracy… they reminded him of his youth and childhood, cooped up in the home of Uncle Viserys and Aunt Dany… Viserys who offered him nothing but vitriol and Dany who was more his friend than his aunt, as they were of an age... both of whom, had played an instrumental part in forcing him into the military… _for your own good_ , Dany told him that day and every time he had seen or heard from her since. Jon wondered if she felt so contented in her own marriage, as she had expected him to be when they deprived him of Ygritte.

“I see the Stark girl is settling well under your benevolent hand,” said a sour voice.

“Lady Snow is well, thank you, Mr. Bolton,” Jon growled, keeping his eye on his bride across the room, who had been ambushed by a group of young women headed by Jeyne Poole.

“Sold to the highest bidder by Baelish, then?” Roose Bolton sneered.

Jon turned to face him, “Out of respect for our host, I will contain myself, but should you ever speak of my wife in such terms again, I will be obliged to ask you to step outside.”

Roose chuckled at him as if he were a petulant boy, “I meant no offense,” Roose said, “Only that I tried to secure her hand for my eldest, Ramsey, thinking that someone like Ned Stark would have left his last remaining daughter a sizeable sum in dowry and property if not Winterfell itself.”

Jon took another swig of wine and looked for an escape, as anger brewed inside him.

“So you would imagine my surprise to hear from Baelish that the girl was penniless, and he required a substantial sum from anyone willing to take her off his hands,” said Roose, “So how much did you pay for your bride?”

The line had been crossed. Jon set his glass down and considered putting his fist across Roose Bolton’s sniveling face.

“You should have a care what you say, Roose, lest someone with a better aim than you should ask to see you at dawn.”

“Is that a threat, Lord Snow?” Roose laughed.

Jon patted his arm roughly, “Just some friendly advice, neighbor to neighbor,” with that said Jon strode away to give Sansa the dance he had promised her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Sansa at the ball (Sansa POV)


	15. Goodnight (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized in retrospect that Jon's last name in this fic should have been Targaryen, but I did not fully think that through as I was so excited with writing and planning this fic, and calling him Jon Snow just seemed so natural, and so I hope you can forgive my blunder. I have chosen therefore to treat "Targaryen" like a title rather than the family name, in the same way that in Downton Abbey Robert Crawley is called Lord Grantham due to his being the Earl of Grantham. I hope you can forgive my error, as it does not really have much bearing on the plot. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you everyone for your lovely comments, they keep me motivated to keep writing!

“Your dress is absolutely exquisite,” Jeyne Poole said as she pulled Sansa away from Jon and into the throng of noble lords and ladies.

“Thank you,” Sansa said softly.

“Did you send off to London for it?” Jeyne asked.

“Oh, um, no, I believe our local seamstress made it, at the drapers… it was a gift,” Sansa said, feeling her cheeks blush slightly. Jeyne surveyed her dress again.

“I did not think the old hag had such taste,” Jeyne chuckled.

Sansa tucked an errant curl back, “Apparently she does…” _or perhaps Jon does_ , she thought smiling to herself. Jeyne kept a tight hold on Sansa’s arm as she dragged her further into the crowd toward a group of young women who appeared to be about her age. Sansa felt anxiety welling up inside her, she turned her head to look for Jon, not wanting to lose sight of him amongst all these strangers.

“You look positively flushed, my dear, let’s get you some wine,” Jeyne grabbed two glasses for the two of them and they joined the group of giggling girls.

“Well, you must be Lady Snow,” said a one of the girls with a snide look at her, then back toward where they had left Jon.

“Yes, please do call me Sansa,” Sansa curtsied.

“Lady Sansa this is Wylla Manderly, the daughter of our host, and very well worth knowing,” Jeyne introduced, and Wylla curtsied while giving Sansa an appraising once over with unfriendly eyes, “And this is Lady Val Wilder, down visiting from the Orkneys.”

“You’ve come a long way south then,” Sansa said giving her a pleasant smile.

“Indeed, my brother-in-law and sister have business dealings with the Manderly’s and where they go I must follow I’m afraid,” said Lady Val with a shrug of disdain.

“Well now,” huffed Jeyne, “Lastly, we have Miss Beth Cassell.”

The homely, dark haired girl, beside Lady Val, curtsied to Sansa but said nothing as her eyes dropped to the floor.

“And where is your gloomy husband?” Wylla asked.   
“He’s across the room there,” Sansa motioned over her shoulder where Jon appeared to be conversing with an elegant looking woman with honey colored curls alongside with Aegon.

“And who is that tall man with him? Now that your husband is off the market, we single women must cast our hopes elsewhere,” said Wylla, with another fake smile at Sansa.

“That is my brother-in-law, Aegon,” Sansa said softly.

“Lord Targaryen?” Wylla and Lady Val gasped simultaneously.

“Yes,” Sansa replied, unsure what all the fuss was over. She, herself, had found Aegon rather ostentatious and overly tedious, and not a thing like Jon.

“Why he is one of the wealthiest bachelors west of Edinburgh!” said Wylla.

Sansa chuckled, “Is he?”

“Indeed he is,” Wylla exclaimed in exasperation, “How can you tease me so, you must introduce me, and perhaps he can be persuaded to dance.”

“Does Lord Targaryen dance? Or is he like Lord Snow, who comes to balls and dances with no one, and insists on looking sour all evening,” Jeyne asked with a laugh.

Beth Cassell’s eyes rose from the ground, “Tis not true, Lord Snow did dance with me at your own ball only two months past.”

“Oh, my dear, Beth, he did so likely at the behest of your father,” said Wylla haughtily.

Beth’s eyes dropped to the floor again, and Sansa had half a mind to scold Wylla for her cruelty.

“Well, at least Beth has danced with Lord Snow, which is more than can be said for you Wylla,” sniggered Jeyne as she took a sip of wine. Wylla only smirked.

“And how long have you and Lord Snow been married?” Lady Val asked Sansa, obviously the more dignified and mature of Sansa’s four new acquaintances.

“Nearly a month now,” Sansa replied.

“And how do you find the arrangement? To your satisfaction?” Lady Val asked boldly, “My dear sister and brother-in-law are quite determined to see me wed, and I’m not sure I could abide such a cage.”

“I am quite satisfied,” Sansa said offering no further explanation.

Jeyne glanced over at Jon once more, who was now looking quite angry at the middle-aged man beside him.

“With a husband as easy on the eyes as yours, I’m not sure any woman could be dissatisfied,” said Jeyne, then she chuckled, “But I do surmise that Mr. Bolton has quite vexed Lord Snow.”

Sansa studied the two men, and Jon indeed looked rather angry.

“Up to his usual antics then,” said Wylla with a sneer, “Now that Lord Snow is wed, mother thought to recommend me to Mr. Bolton for his eldest son, but father would not hear of it.”

“I’m glad,” said Jeyne with a teasing smirk, “I thought I might play my hand for Ramsey Bolton.”

“Will he be in attendance tonight?” asked Wylla.

“I know not,” replied Jeyne.

“Oh, look there is Myranda Royce with her father,” Wylla said, motioning to a buxom young woman entering the hot room rather regally, on the arm of her father.

“I’d steer clear of her, my dear,” said Jeyne patting Sansa’s arm, “She’s quite as vulgar as a common peasant!”

“Sounds like she may be more fun than you, Miss Poole,” said Lady Val coolly.

“They say her late husband died while he was abed with her,” Jeyne snigged behind her wine glass. Both Sansa’s and Lady Val’s eyebrows shot up. Sansa did not know what to say, and Lady Val looked like she might laugh, but refrained.

“How… unfortunate,” said Lady Val dryly.

“It was all rather hushed up,” Wylla explained, “The Royce’s are an ancient family, and they couldn’t have word spreading that Randa stopped her aging husband’s heart.”

Wylla and Jeyne laughed, and Val and Sansa exchanged uncomfortable smiles, and Beth continued to look at the floor.

“Ladies,” the chortling was interrupted by the sound of Jon’s calming voice, “Do forgive me, but I promised my wife a dance.”

Sansa smiled gratefully at him, happy to be rescued from the women whom she had not been able to deem friend or foe. He took her hand, and left the gaggle of girls, whom Sansa had no doubt would all be discussing her now.

“How’s your wrist?” Jon asked quietly, leaning close to her ear.

“It is well, thank you,” Sansa said looking up at him. Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other.

“Well enough to lead me in a dance?” Jon chuckled.

“I believe so,” said Sansa as they entered the ballroom to the sound of music and joined the cotillion. Their eyes met, and Sansa found it hard to look away. The girls had been right, her husband was quite easy to look upon. His dark curly hair, tonight pulled back in a knot at the back of his head, always looked so soft, and as he read to her last night she had been quite tempted to ask if she might touch it. Jon’s eyes, too, were striking. They were kind eyes, and Sansa often found herself drawn in by them. He was not quite so tall as his brother Aegon, but there was a strength about him that superseded Aegon, or any other man Sansa had ever known, save her father. She did not always know what to make of Jon, but she found herself hoping a little more each day that they would come to know each other well. Their eyes never left each other as they twirled about the room, and for a little while Sansa forgot her distaste of balls… and she smiled.

* * *

When the dance was over, Jon led her toward refreshment with a hand at the small of her back. Sansa felt her cheeks flush.

“My new acquaintances quite assured me that you do not dance,” Sansa teased, feeling a little bolder than usual. Jon chuckled.

“As I assured you,” said Jon with an easy smile.

“Beth Cassell, however, said otherwise,” Sansa grinned at him.

Jon looked at her, and his smile turned sad, “She’s not given enough attention.”

“Oh?”

“She’ll never be a great beauty,” Jon said bluntly, “And she may not be the richest unmarried woman in the county, but she has a kind heart, and I’ve seen her with grace carry burdens far heavier than any Wylla Manderly or Jeyne Poole could imagine, she’d make someone an able wife if the empty head arses in this town could see her for who she truly is.”

Sansa smiled at his genuine kindness.

“I know her father well,” Jon explained, “She lost her mother at a very early age and has ably managed his household ever since.”

“Do you recommend her as a worthy friend?” Sansa asked, trying to keep their conversation light.

“I do.”

“And Jeyne Poole and Wylla Manderly?”

“You may befriend who you wish, it is not for me to say,” said Jon, and Sansa chuckled.

“And how about Lady Val?”

“I’ve not spent much time with her, so have not properly formed an opinion,” Jon said, “Besides I believe she resides in the Orkneys, does she not?”

“Yes,” Sansa confirmed. Their eyes met once more, seeming to study each other. Sansa wondered what it was he was thinking when he stared at her so. Did he wonder, as she did, what thoughts lay hidden behind the eyes? Was he as curious to know her, as she was to know him? He looked so tired sometimes, as if the weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders, and she wondered what she might do to help him, to ease his burdens. She tried to recall her mother and father. What part had her mother played in easing her father’s burdens? The memories seemed just out of her reach, buried beneath heartache and loss. Without thinking too hard upon it, Sansa reached up and stroked his bearded cheek, ignoring the noble crowd around them. Jon’s mouth twitched in a smile as he looked at her.

“Where did Aegon disappear too?” Sansa asked, realizing she had not seen her brother-in-law in quite some time.

“Up to no good, no doubt,” Jon sighed.

“The two of you are so very different,” she commented, as they walked together toward the outer edge of the room.

“Aye, I suppose we are,” Jon said, “When I was a boy though, I was quite jealous of him.”

“Why?”

“He had my father’s love, and I did not,” Jon said simply.

“And now?”

“No, now in many ways I pity him,” said Jon, “He seems lost, always searching, always seeking, never sure, and never steadfast.”

“Like the way he has escaped up here to avoid a marriage?” Sansa asked.

“Aye,” Jon confirmed, “I cannot comprehend why, Arianne is beautiful and amiable, and I know they are fond of each other, they always have been.”

“I suppose many men do not like to be tethered,” Sansa said, thinking of Harry who even as he courted her, had frequented brothels in town.

“I suppose some do not, but should marriage be thought of as a tether?” Jon raised his eyes to hers, and the heartbreaking sincerity in them nearly undid her. Sansa touched his arm.

“I hope not,” she whispered, and for a few moments they just looked at each other.

“Might I steal your wife for a dance, Lord Snow?” a booming voice, belonging to a rotund, balding man interrupted their staring, causing them both to jump. He offered his hand to Sansa.

“That will be up to my wife, Mr. Glover,” Jon said, offering her a smile. Sansa had not desire to be pulled away from Jon by a strange man, but not wishing to be rude, she took Mr. Glover’s hand and allowed him to pull her back onto the dance floor.

“I knew your father well, Lady Snow, a good man indeed,” said Mr. Glover as they wove through the other dancers.

“He was, sir,” said Sansa, trying to focus on her steps so as not to trample anyone’s feet, as the line of dancers progressed.

“And how are you finding being back in your family home?” Glover asked as they came back together.

“Quite well,” Sansa said, her eyes drifting looking for Jon.

“Though I suppose it would be better if it were still in family hands,” said Glover.

“Jon is my family now,” Sansa said, though she feared her voice lacked conviction.

“Considering my friendship with your late father,” Glover began, still weaving through the other dancers, “I wondered if you might speak to your husband on my behalf.”

“Oh? On what matter?” Sansa responded suspiciously, as he clasped her hand in his to continue leading her through the steps of the dance.

“It’s a matter of property, owned by the Winterfell estate, but bordering my own land,” explained Glover.

“I would not presume to advise Lord Snow on matters of business, the property is his to do with as he pleases.”

The song started to slow to halt, “But surely, as Winterfell’s last daughter, you have some say by right of blood, if not right of law,” Glover said with a sour smile, and Sansa cringed. Would he seek to drive a wedge between her and Jon over a little bit of property? Sansa grew angry, but luckily the song ended, and Sansa curtsied to her partner.

“Think it over, will you?”

Sansa nodded tersely, her eyes darting around the crowd looking for Jon. Where had he gone? She had lost sight of him, and in the humid air, and the cluster of sweaty human bodies in the warm room, Sansa began to feel queasy, even as her heart began to race. There was so much noise and she was surrounded by strangers.

“May I have the pleasure, ma’am?”

Sansa turned to find a young man with dark hair and blue eyes offering his hand. Not sure what to do, she gave the strange man her hand and allowed him to pull her toward the dance once more.

“Dances are excellent places to make new acquaintances, are they not?” He asked jovially, with a broad smile. Sansa was taken aback that he had not introduced himself and had had the audacity to ask her to do dance without doing so, though she supposed she accepted without introducing herself.

“Yes, though I do not believe we have had the pleasure,” said Sansa.

“My apologies, where are my manners?” The man chuckled, “I’ve only just arrived this evening, Mr. Ramsey Bolton, at your service, ma’am.”

His leering smile made Sansa cringe, and she looked for Jon once more.

“Lady Sansa Snow.”

“Ah, yes, I know exactly who you are,” said Ramsey, “The last remaining Stark turned Snow, having recently acquiesced to a mercenary marriage.”

His words turned Sansa’s stomach, and she turned to leave him, but he grabbed her sore wrist. She flinched in pain.

“I thought we were to dance?” Ramsey said in a cold voice.

“My apologies, I must find my husband…”

Ramsey laughed mockingly, “He keeps you on a short leash, does he?”

“I believe Miss Poole had hoped to see you,” Sansa said, hoping to deter him.

“Oh, she mentioned me to you, did she? Well, I suppose her delicate delights will suffice where higher quality pleasures are denied,” He continued to leer at her for a few moments, before he bowed and took his leave. He looked at her the way Marillion had, and the way Harry had at a ball not unlike this one… She felt sick.

Sansa felt her heart racing with anxiety, images of that last ball flashing through her mind. Harry’s fingers digging into her thigh, and the bruises he had left upon her body in his efforts to have his way with her. She remembered the fear that had gripped when she had thought he might succeed. Suddenly, Sansa felt like she could not breathe, the air had grown thick and putrid. Her head was spinning, she needed out of this room. Turning around, she crashed into a servant who had been carrying a tray of empty glasses. Though the music played on, Sansa felt all eyes on her, and she could not bring herself to look up. She nearly cried out when a hand was placed on the small of her back. She flinched away from it.

“Sister?” Aegon asked in concern. Sansa tried to compose herself, as she turned to face him.

“I am very sorry, I believe I need some air,” She stammered out.

Aegon took her by the elbow, “Then by all means, let us go and find it.”

Sansa could only nod.

They were silent as they went out onto the Manderly’s veranda overlooking the garden.

“Are you ill?” asked Aegon.

“No, no, only overheated,” Sansa assured him, hating how her voice shook, “It is rather crowded in there.”

“Yes, it seems the Manderly’s invited half the county and half of other county’s as well,” Aegon chuckled.

Sansa began to calm.

“There now, take some deep breaths of that fresh night air,” Aegon grinned at her.

“Where’s Jon?” She asked.

“I believe he was ambushed by a few old codgers wishing to discuss sheep and wool,” Aegon laughed disdainfully, as if matters of business where far beneath his dignity, “Shall I fetch him to take you home?”

“No, no, I would not wish to spoil the evening,” Sansa said, resting her hands on the stone banister and inhaling deeply once more.

“I highly doubt Jon would find it to be spoiled, he’s never been fond of balls,” Aegon took a swig of his wine glass, “Or society in general.”

“I am perhaps in no position to disagree with him on the subject,” Sansa managed to joke.

Aegon laughed, “Then you are perfect for each other.”

Sans looked out at the dark garden watched over by the moon, it was the type of place she would have found terribly romantic as a young girl, but now she only found the moonlight distasteful.

“Indeed, I had grown concerned that I might never see my brother smile again,” Aegon continued, “And then to my surprise, I walk into the ballroom to find him dancing.”

“He does not care for dancing,” Sansa said, unsure what else to say.

“No, he does not,” Aegon said, his eyes suddenly turning serious, “But I am glad you are here to pull him out onto the dance floor and make him smile.”

“I’ve hardly done anything,” Sansa said, feeling her cheeks flush.

“He deserves some consolation in life,” Aegon said in an almost guilty tone, “He is a better man than I.”

“Consolation?” Sansa could not help but asked.

“I’m afraid he’s not forgiven any of his family, myself included, in separating him from…” Aegon for the first time seemed to second guess what he was about to say.

“Ygritte?” Sansa supplied, remembering the name Sam had told her.

“He’s told you of her?”

“Not entirely,” she skimmed over the truth.

“She was a chambermaid in my Uncle’s home,” Aegon said, and Sansa’s brow rose in surprise.

“What happened?” Sansa asked.

“My apologies, sister, he’d not wish for me to speak of her, especially not to you,” Aegon said, and just as he did the side door to the house opened and Jon dashed out.

“Sansa!” He called, his voice full of worry. Aegon smiled at Sansa.

“I’m here,” Sansa turned to assure him.

“Myranda Royce told me, or scolded me rather, saying I needed to come and see about my wife, is something wrong?” Jon asked, reaching for her hand, careful not to touch her sprained wrist.

“I was overheated in the ballroom is all, Jon,” Sansa gave him a smile, “And then I had a rather clumsy encounter with a servant and a tray of glasses.”

“Shall I take you home?” He asked.

“If you wish,” _Please_ , she wanted to beg. Leaning toward her, Jon surprised her by placing a kiss upon her forehead. Aegon cleared his throat.

“Take her home then, so I shan’t have to see anymore, the two of you are rather sickening,” Aegon chided with a laugh as he tipped his glass toward Jon, “Take your bride home, I shall borrow a horse from Manderly when the evening grows dull, I have a few more conquests to make upon the dance floor.”

Both their faces flushing, they watched as Aegon disappeared back inside the house. With a gentle hand, to her back, Jon did not leave her side again as they made a parade of goodbyes to acquaintances and host and hostess, before finally escaping for the night.

* * *

After donning her nightgown and robe, Sansa sat uncoiling her hair from atop her head in front of her mirror. She rubbed at her scalp where the pins had irritated her. There was a gentle rap on the study door. The knock surprised her, for even though they had left the party early, it was surely still too late for any reading.

“Come in…” Sansa called out though tentatively, curious what could bring him to her room right now. She looked up in the mirror and saw Ghost dart through the door ahead of Jon. The big white dog bolted for Sansa, clamoring for her attention. She smiled and scratched behind his ears. Jon sat down on the edge of Sansa’s bed.

“The wolf would not settle until he was able to wish you goodnight,” Jon chuckled.

“Well, he is always welcome,” Sansa giggled, and kissed the top of Ghost’s head.

“I suppose it is too late for any reading,” Jon commented casually, looking at his hands.

“I suppose,” Sansa agreed as she yawned.

Jon stood from the bed and whistled for Ghost, “We’ll leave you then.”

Making what she considered to be a rash decision, she stood from her seat, “Jon…”

He halted and turned back around to look at her, “Yes?”

“You can stay… if you want…” She stammered, “We need not read… we can… we can sleep.”

He studied her face for a moment, and then the corners of his mouth twitched in one of his classic enigmatic smiles, “Alright.”

Quietly, Sansa crawled into her side of the bed… when she had come to think of one side of the bed to be hers and one side to be his, she did not know, and decided not to examine the errant thought too closely. Jon stood still for a moment as if he was not sure how to proceed. Finally, he crawled onto the bed, not looking unlike a wolf himself. Sansa settled herself on the pillows and turned on her side to face away from him. Jon put out the lamp, and she felt Ghost settle at the foot of the bed. Jon moved a bit, getting comfortable.

“Tonight was a nice evening,” Sansa offered.

“I’m glad,” He said softly, “I’m sorry for leaving your side when you obviously needed me.”

“Do not think on it, Jon, I was overheated is all,” Sansa assured him, “It has happened to many a lady more stalwart than I.”

Jon chuckled, “Were people kind to you?”

“Yes,” Sansa responded tremulously, “Though I do not much care for fashionable society at times, I think.”

“Nor I,” Jon agreed.

“Mr. Glover requested I speak with you about some land he wishes to purchase,” Sansa confessed.

“I thought he might,” Jon sighed and shifted in the bed, “He’s determined to have it, because he believes if he does it will enable him to better enclose his land, he cares not for some of our tenants who live there. Glover would destroy their homes to make way for a new road to his estate.”

Sansa nodded in understanding.

“Did you have any other more charming dance partners?” Jon asked teasingly.

“I met…” Sansa shivered, “I met… Mr. Ramsey Bolton.”

She felt Jon turn over in the bed, and move closer to her, “Did he touch you?”

The words were asked so seriously, that Sansa shivered once more, “We started to dance, but he was rather rude in his comments, and so I left him.”

“There have been rumors…” Jon started.

“Rumors?”

“Ramsey Bolton is not one to be trusted,” Jon said simply, “If he bothers you again, please tell me, and I will deal with him.”

Sansa nodded, “What rumors?”

“Of his treatment of a village girl who died last winter.”

“Died?” Sansa was alarmed.

“Yes, a sorry situation in which I believe justice was not done,” said Jon.

“I did not care for the way he spoke to me.”

“The man should be behind bars, or worse,” Jon said sharply.

“Jeyne Poole seems taken with him,” Sansa said.

“Jeyne Poole has been sheltered from all things unseemly in life, and can be rather frivolous at times,” Jon said, “Perhaps I should have a word with her father.”

“Perhaps so,” Sansa agreed, thinking of the lighthearted and innocent coyness of Jeyne Poole. They were quiet and Jon shifted once again in the bed. Hoping to break the somber mood, Sansa glanced over her shoulder at him in the dark.

“Can you not get comfortable?” She asked, with a grin.

“I suppose I am rather restless, aren’t I?” Jon asked with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I suppose so, since you have not stopped moving since you laid down,” Sansa teased.

“I believe I’m still growing accustom to sharing my bed.”

Sansa laughed, “I do believe you crawled into _my_ bed, sir.”

“I suppose I did,” Jon chuckled with her.

“If you’d rather not…” Sansa started to offer, feeling suddenly self-conscious despite their jests.

“No,” Jon cut her off, “I… I rather like…”

“Like what?”

“I like sleeping here,” He said softly before the teasing lilt returned to his voice, “I like hearing your little snores.”

Sansa gasped playfully, and turned onto her back to glare at him, “I do not snore!”

Jon laughed a full and hardy laugh.

“If anyone snores, it is you!” Sansa retorted.

“Is that so?” Jon asked, playfulness still lighting his tone.

“It is,” Sansa looked over at him in the dark and could just barely make out his smiling face.

“Would you prefer that I sleep in my own bed then?” He teased.

“No,” Sansa whispered, “I think I could grow accustomed to your snores…”

“Oh?”

“For the sake of how warm you make the bed…” She said, and then blushed furiously at the unintended implications of her words.

“You like me to warm your bed?” Jon asked in a husky whisper.

“Its rather cold in Scotland,” Sansa retorted softly trying to recover from her blunder, turning on her side to face away from him once more. He chuckled, a deep, sweet chuckle, that made Sansa’s belly feel curiously warm. He started to settle, his body a little bit closer to her than he had been in the past week. She felt his hand sweep some of her hair off her neck, before he pressed a gentle kiss right below her hair line. Sansa was not sure what to make of this and so she stilled, trying to breathe, but he made no further move to touch her.

“Oidhche mhath, leannan,” Jon whispered.

“What does it mean?” Sansa whispered in return.

“Goodnight,” said Jon, and not another word was said.


	16. Morning Feelings and Thoughts (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's lovely and thoughtful comments keep me so excited to write this story! Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Here is the next little bit, I hope everyone enjoys!

Jon woke slowly, blinking several times in the dim morning light. He was very warm and looked down to find Sansa’s face lightly pressed against his chest and her hand clutching his shirt. They were both laying on their sides, facing each other, and Jon could feel her cold toes touching his leg. Resisting the urge to lift his hand and stroke her hair, Jon smiled. He did not want to wake her. They had shared a bed every night in the week since the ball, whether they read or not. Frequently since they had started sharing a bed, Jon had woken having accidentally invaded her space in the night, but this was the first time he had woken with her clinging to him. She sighed softly in her sleep making Jon’s smile widen. He was not sure what to do with his wayward hand, afraid to move and wake her. Very gently, he placed it on her waist and remained still as he studied her face. She looked younger in sleep, and not so very made of steel. The worry lines in her brow were smooth, and the weight of her shadows gone from her face. Thinking of how she took tea in Old Nan’s little hovel and curtsied to those far beneath her station and frolicked with Little Sam in the garden laughing like a girl and held a newborn lamb in her arms without shying from the blood or the mess, he felt an unexpected warmth blossoming within him. Though Jon feared that he had little left to offer her by way of his heart due to his own guilt and shame, he hoped that he might at least make her happy… for though she had seen the crueler parts of this dark world, there was kindness in her still… a kindness that the world had sought to rob from himself and there were dark days when he feared he let it.

“Leannan,” Jon whispered, for it seemed all he could call her for it fit her well. He knew he needed to rise and begin his day, a day full of sheep, shareholders meetings, and general business that could not be delayed. He, however, wished he could remain abed with his pretty wife. When her breathing took on a different cadence, Jon knew she had woken, but took it as a good sign that she did not immediately pull away from him. She kept hold of his shirt but tilted her head back to look up at him.

“Madainn mhath cèile,” Sansa said with a soft, shy smile.

Jon chuckled, “You learn quickly.”

“Podrick has helped me practice my pronunciation,” said she.

Jon tried not to frown, “It’s good to practice.”

She nodded sleepily, and to his surprise, she lowered her face close to his chest once more and lay there unmoving… only breathing deeply.

“You’re warm,” Sansa whispered after a few moments of silence. Absentmindedly, Jon stroked her side.

“Are you cold?” Jon asked, wondering if he should fetch her another blanket. Sansa touched his leg with her cold feet, causing him to flinch. She giggled but did not seem able to look up at him. She was shy of him most mornings when they woke together. He did not mind, however, as they were still veritable strangers to each other after all, though it seemed less so with each passing day. _Be patient with her_ , both Sam and Gilly had admonished him, and he sought daily to follow their advice.

“Not with you here,” she confessed softly.

“I’ll stoke the fire for you when I rise,” Jon offered.

“Is it already time to rise?” She asked.

“I’m afraid so,” said Jon, though he made no move to do so.

“I do not wish to rise this morning, I do not know why,” she chuckled, still not looking at him, and still holding onto his shirt.

Jon brushed some hair away from her face so he could better see her eyes, though she still kept her face close to his chest, “Well, you are the lady of the house, you can do as you please.”

She grinned at that, “Then I’d have everyone believing I was slothful.”

Jon laughed, “I highly doubt anyone here abouts would consider you slothful, and if they do, they and I will have words.”

She glanced up at him with a grin, “That’s very chivalrous of you.”

“It’s my business to protect your reputation,” He teased, and for a moment he thought he saw a shadow pass over her eyes, but it was swiftly gone. Sighing, he added, “Though you may lie abed a little while longer if you wish it, I’m afraid I must rise.”

Sansa did not release her hold on the front of his shirt, “I’ll freeze,” she said, trying to contain a laugh.

Smiling, Jon smoothed his hand down her side, before taking a chance and tickling her ribs. Sansa shrieked with laughter and released the front of his shirt, rolling onto her back and away from him.

“It seems I’ve unearthed a secret,” Jon chuckled and made a move toward her again. Still laughing she pulled the blanket up around her and gave him an impish smile, and Jon understood then why it was said that redheads were fairy children.

“You have not,” She said with a defiant smirk, and mirth lighting her eyes. Crawling toward her, Jon smiled at her.

“Oh, haven’t I?” He made a lunge to grab for her again, and caught her by the waist, tickling her sides furiously as she laughed and kicked, until he lost his balance and collapsed atop her.

Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other, Jon did not speak or move. He could feel her down the length of his body. He certainly knew that she too could feel him. She looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. Their faces were close together, and Jon could feel her panted breath on his cheek. Taking a chance, Jon brushed his nose against hers, before kissing her cheek. Jon thought he could feel her heart pounding where her breast was pressed to his chest. Turning her head just slightly, Sansa pressed her lips to his cheek before that shy look returned to her eyes and she looked away from him. Jon searched her face, though she seemed unable to bring her eyes back to meet his.

He cleared his throat, “May I… may I kiss you, Sansa?”

She did look at him then, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Her hand came to grip the sleeve of his shirt. Her knuckles were white. She nodded, with a bashful look in her eyes. Nuzzling his nose against hers one more time, Jon leaned down and captured her mouth with his. The first brush of her lips against his was timid, and unsure. Jon found himself coaxing her with his own mouth. The kiss deepened, as they explored each other with tentative lips. She sighed into their kiss and her eyes slid closed for a moment. When they resurfaced for air, Sansa was breathless, and Jon nuzzled her cheek before pressing his forehead against hers. She was shaking.

“You’re trembling,” He whispered gruffly.

“No,” She said with her eyes still closed. He smiled at her bravery and kissed her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, and Jon found her blue eyes wide and dark as they studied him. “We’ve never kissed like that before,” She said with the innocent bluntness that she occasionally found… or perhaps she always had, and occasionally let slip. He did not add that they had not really kissed at all before now.

“Aye… It’s good to practice,” he mimicked his words from earlier hoping to make her smile, but making no move to remove himself from atop her.

She smiled softly. Jon could still feel her clutching his sleeve.

“You’re quite lovely, you know,” Jon told her, “And you have such a gentle heart.”

She swallowed, and looked at him, “Is that… is that good?”

Jon smiled, “I think so…” he stroked his hand down her side, though he did not venture further. He needed to rise and start his day, and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she was not quite ready for more, though he took it as a good sign that she did not pull away from him.

“Your heart is beating rather fast,” Jon said.

“Is it?” She nearly whimpered.

Jon nodded, and kissed her cheek again. He had to contain a groan, when she brought a tentative hand to his cheek and stroked his beard. Had he ever experienced such a tender touch? Losing himself for a moment, he bore down on her, and she moaned softly, no doubt feeling how he burned for her. Suddenly, Ghost barked, causing them both to startle so badly Jon could feel his own heart beating wildly in tandem with Sansa’s.

“Shite, wolf!” Jon shouted, and started to laugh softly, though Sansa still looked a little breathless. Ghost came to the side of the bed and nudged Jon. Smiling, Jon reached over and petted him, but Ghost did not seem interested in being petted. He barked again. Rolling off Sansa and onto his back, Jon watched as Sansa curled herself into a ball on her side with her back facing him, and her arms around her middle. The change in her demeanor worried him, he sat up and put a hand on her back.

“Sansa, leannan,” the word slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself, “Have I… Have I frightened you?”

She shook her head, and muttered, “No.”

He continued to stroke her shoulder, not sure what to say. She still had her arms clasped around her middle and did not seem able to look at him.

“I’m fine, Jon, truly,” She said, still a little breathless, “It’s just… I just… I…” she stammered and did not finish her statement.

Jon raked a hand through his hair, still unsure of how to gauge her reaction. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Sansa…”

She grasped his hand for a moment and to his surprise she kissed the back of it, “Please…” She whimpered, “Please do not ask me of it right now…”

Baffled, Jon nodded, “Alright,” He pulled the blanket up around her, not wanting her to be cold, before he stood from the bed. He walked around the bed and knelt on the ground so that he was eye level with where she lay. He smoothed the hair away from her face, and her cheeks were pink.

“Will I see you at breakfast?” He asked, and she gave him a small bashful smile and nodded.

“I will be down directly,” she replied.

Jon nodded, and retreated to his room.

* * *

When Sansa appeared at the breakfast table, she acted as if nothing were amiss and nothing unusual had happened that morning. Jon was not sure if he should interpret this as a good sign or bad but having little time to dwell too deeply on the matter he continued on with his breakfast. To no one’s surprise, Aegon had not yet bestirred himself and Jon wondered when his older brother would finally decide to take himself back to Dragonstone Castle.

“If Aegon ever arises, he may join me town if he wishes,” Jon said to Sansa. He had to leave soon and could not wait for his brother.

“I shall tell him, though I’m sure he may be making his usual secretive visits,” Sansa grinned.

“Ah, yes, he thinks himself so very clever and clandestine,” Jon laughed, “But half the county is talking of him paying court to Miss Tyrell.”

“Do you think he truly means anything by it?” Sansa asked.

“I don’t know,” Jon sighed and rubbed his eyes, “I also wonder, does she?”

“You think they would toy with each other’s hearts so?”

“It would not be the first time that Aegon has led a young woman to believe he felt more for her than he did.”

Sansa nodded, and Jon decided he no longer wished to discuss his brother, nor worry over his indiscretions. Aegon’s affairs were his own and they had naught to do with Jon and Sansa.

“What have you aligned for the day?” Jon asked, hoping to coax a few more words from her before he had to leave for the day.

“Cook was too show me the larders so that I might know how best to purchase,” Sansa said, taking a bite of oats, “And I might see if Old Nan has any needs, and then walk with Mya…” She paused, “That is if you have no objection to my befriending our tenants.”

“No objection at all,” Jon said, taking a sip of tea trying to hide his smile at her question. He knew very well that she walked with Mya almost daily this past week, and that she frequently took to the pastures with his field hands. Why she felt it necessary to ask him now, he did not know.

“My Uncle did not allow me to mingle amongst his tenants,” Sansa said.

“Petyr Baelish believes himself above decent, honest working folk,” Jon said bitterly, “I think it is good for us to know our tenants, and for our tenants to know us.”

“My father used to say the same,” She said.

“And he was well loved.”

“Yes,” Sansa looked down at her plate for a moment, “I may also call upon Mrs. Seaworth, do you think she would be amenable to that? Or should I send her a card first?”

Jon smiled at her, “I think she would be most amenable to that. Do you know the way to the Seaworth’s home? I would not want you lost.”

“I’ve not been,” Sansa said, “But I can ask Podrick or Mya for direction.”

Jon chuckled, “Or Davos.”

“Yes, I suppose Davos would know the way,” She grinned at him.

“I will be gone for most of the day, but I’ll be home before supper,” Jon said.

“Then so shall I,” she replied, and their eyes met.

* * *

Jon rubbed his eyes, exhaustion closing in on him, as he sat in the parlor waiting for Sansa. Mr. Glover had ambushed him in town, once again making another offer for the land on his border, and Jon once again turned him down. The man had been angry, but Jon had no intention of selling land where living and working tenants made their home, just so that the Glover land could be enclosed. Glover would have to manage with the border that he had, for Jon was not going to bend. The door opened, and Jon looked up hoping it was Sansa. It was getting dark outside, and while he had no qualms about her doing as she pleased, it made him uneasy that she was out as the sun was setting and so close to supper when she said she would be home. The door opened to reveal Aegon whistling some merry tune, as if he had not a care in the world. Jon rolled his eyes.

“Where have you been?” Jon demanded, not unaware that he sounded like a surly old man.

“About,” said Aegon with a grin.

“Do you intend to return to Dragonstone, Aegon? Or perhaps to your Martel cousins in Cornwall?” Jon asked.

Aegon chuckled, “You wish to be rid of me already?”

“What I wish is for you to stop shirking responsibility,” Jon sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Dragonstone will keep, I’m not like you Jon,” Aegon said, a slight irritation showing in his voice, “I’m not content to hide away in my castle all alone, I need society.”

“So, marry Arianne and be happy,” said Jon.

“I think there is a storm brewing out there,” Aegon avoided the question and looked out the window.

“What?” Jon stood abruptly from the chair and came to the window.

“Seems like there is already a light rain.”

“Sansa is still out,” Jon said, anxiety rising within him.

“Well, hopefully she is wise enough to seek shelter, where was she planning to go?”

“She wanders,” Jon said raking his hand through his hair and going for his coat.

“She wanders?” Aegon laughed, “Then she could be anywhere. Surely, you are not thinking on going out in a storm?”

“How could I not?” Jon demanded, “I’ll not have her getting lost in a storm.”

Jon threw open the door, and nearly ran face first into Davos, who grinned at him as he shook rain from his own coat.

“Where are you off too?” Davos asked.

“Sansa is still out in this…” Jon said, trying to push past Davos.

Davos chuckled, and halted Jon with a hand to his shoulder, “Easy lad, she’s with Marya.”

“Still?” Jon calmed.

“Aye, it’s what I’ve come to tell you.”

“Tell me?”

“You might want to ride down to the Tarly’s to fetch her, it’s Gilly’s time and it’s like to be a long night,” Davos explained, “Marya sent me to have you come down and bring Lady Sansa home.”

“Aye, I’ll go straight away,” Jon said, his urgency renewed.

“What of dinner?” Aegon asked with an irritating laugh.

“Eat it!” shouted Jon and he bolted out the door with Davos on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Sansa spends the day out and Gilly gives birth (Sansa POV)


	17. Of Love and Husbands (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we get into a little bit of Sansa's thoughts and she receives some much needed motherly attention. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, I read them over and over to help get me motivated to write. I enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> Also, thanks for being patient with me with the slow burn, I want these two to fall madly in love, but I want it to happen naturally. I hope it will be worth it!

Strolling down the lane toward the little row of cottages where Mya and Old Nan lived, Sansa hummed to herself, and tried to not think to deeply upon her strange morning. The laughter they had shared had been almost as sweet as Jon’s kisses. She felt that he was awakening something in her… something that she preferred to keep dormant… it felt safer that way. She had been hurt too much and too often to trust the raw emotions he had stirred inside her this morning. Blushing at the recollection of the warmth that had enveloped her when Jon’s body pressed upon her, she had been completely unnerved. He was a handsome man, her husband, and he was kind, far kinder than anyone she had known. When they had kissed, she felt a curious ache inside her, one that she did not have the vocabulary to name.

“Lady Snow!” a strange voice halted her in her tracks, and she turned around to see the buxom and pink cheeked Myranda Royce, huffing to catch up with her. She recalled her from the dance though they had not been introduced.

“My apologies for not making introduction at the Manderly’s ball, I’m Myranda Royce,” She chirped pleasantly as she came into stride beside Sansa.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Royce,” Sansa said, not able to curtsy properly with her large basket of dried goods she was taking to Old Nan in her arms.

“Oh, do call me Randa, everyone I like does, and some I don’t like besides,” She chuckled.

Sansa smiled not sure how to take her words, “Then please call me Sansa.”

“I’d be more than happy to,” said Randa, “All of our titles become quite bothersome when one is trying to become friends.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sansa said, not sure what else to say.

“I am very glad that you have married Jon,” Randa continued, “I’m quite fond of the fellow myself but his glumness is not to be abided.”

Sansa tried not to chuckle, “What brings you down to the village?”

“Oh, I buy eggs from my good friend Mya Stone,” Randa said, “I don’t keep chickens myself, I can’t stand the little peckers, so I keep ducks instead, but I don’t care to eat duck eggs as all I can think of when eating them is how unfortunate it would be if there were no ducklings in the pond and then it spoils my appetite altogether.”

Stifling a smile, Sansa nodded, “We are headed in the same direction then.”

“Then I suppose we shall just have to walk together,” said Randa.

“Yes,” Sansa agreed, still unsure what to make of this woman.

“I’m sorry that the ball was so stuffy,” Randa said, as she looped her arm with Sansa’s.

“It was not so very bad,” replied Sansa.

“Was it not? I saw you speaking with Ramsey Bolton,” Myranda chuckled, “He’s rather vile… and I pity anyone who must speak to him.”

Sansa did not know whether to agree or simply listen, “Thank you,” was all she managed to say.

“Randa!” Mya Stone called out to them as they approached the little row of cottages, “ ‘ave your eggs! Two dozen!”

Sansa smiled as Mya frolicked up them, hoisting her skirts nearly to her knees.

“Thank you,” Randa very subtly thrust coin into Mya’s hand, “Have you heard from your young man?”

Mya blushed prettily, “I’ll not say one way nor t’other.”

Randa laughed but Sansa could see there was some underlying concern, which Sansa herself shared.

“And what of your prospects?” Mya asked with a sly grin at Randa.

“Oh no one will have me, I be cursed, and all the men hereabouts know it,” Randa chortled, “I reckon I’ll have to send off for a new husband for myself likely from France or some other barbarous land, where they might not take exception to such thing.”

Mya laughed, and Sansa looked between the two of them.

“I imagine you heard of my misfortune,” Randa said to Sansa, “That my late husband’s heart gave out while he was abed with me… died right in the act, which in my opinion was quite rude.”

Sansa grimaced, “I had heard, but I did not put much stock in the gossip.”

Randa laughed and patted Sansa’s arm, “Oh bless you, what a dear you are.”

Sansa smiled awkwardly.

“What are the three of you cackling hens going on about?” Old Nan’s cranky voice interrupted the girls from her doorway, “Haven’t you got any work to do?”

Sansa, Mya, and Randa all turned to look at the old woman.

“We are speaking of love and husbands, Nan,” Mya exclaimed.

Nan scoffed.

“Surely, you were in love once, Nan?” Randa asked taking the old lady by the hand.

“Love is all well and good,” Nan said, poking Randa’s arm, “But it doesn’t make bellies full or stop roofs from leaking…”

“Is your roof still leaking?” Sansa asked in concern.

“No, my lady, it be a figure of speech,” Nan gave her a puzzled look and so Sansa said nothing else.

Mya and Randa chuckled.

“All the men, hereabouts, be useless, save Lord Snow and perhaps young Podrick,” Nan said as she waved them into her hovel.

“Only Lord Snow? Well, how every lucky of Lady Sansa to have snatched him up,” Randa said in amusement, as she gracefully sat upon the chair offered to her by Nan.

“Its high time young Podrick did ask for your hand Mya,” Nan pointed an accusatory finger at Mya.

“I’d have Podrick, Nan, if my heart were not already bespoke to another,” Mya said with a whimsical smile.

“Will come to no good, child, you and your fancy lad,” Nan scolded, “Where will you be when he leaves you with a babe in your belly, and nothing but your chicken’s eggs to hold off starvation. You be too much like your mother, lass, and will come to a sorry end.”

Mya clapped her mouth shut a blush of shame creeping across her cheeks, and Sansa and Randa exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“Love t’isn’t all sweet kisses in the dark,” Nan grumbled, and poured them tea.

Randa and Sansa exchanged smiles, and together the three young women listened to Nan ramble her way through her years.

When they finally made excuses to leave, Mya needing to return to her little farm, and Randa home, and Sansa to the Seaworth’s, Randa started up the lane with her. Together they watched as Mya skipped carefree down toward the other end of the cottages.

“I do worry for her,” Randa confessed.

“As do I,” Sansa agreed, as Mya’s bouncy black curls disappeared, “Have you any idea who her gentleman is?”

“No, I do not, and she’ll not tell me,” Randa said with a sigh as they started to make their way up the hill, “Forgive me, but for some time last year I did believe it was Lord Snow, but I have since learned better.”

Sansa looked back down toward where Mya had disappeared.

“And why did you think it Jon?” Sansa asked curiously, though she herself somehow knew it was not Jon.

“It seemed that she was escaping up to the castle,” Randa said, “But then I discovered she was also meeting her young gent in town, and I could not reckon why they would risk meeting in town when he had the castle to himself and it was closer than the inn.”

Sansa nodded.

“Besides, since I have come to know Jon better, he does not strike me as the type to have dalliances with village maids,” Randa said.

Sansa swallowed, thinking of Aegon’s words to her about Ygritte. _She was a chambermaid in our Uncle’s household_. Would Jon have a dalliance with a chambermaid but not a village maid? Sansa did not know, though Mya’s own words to her on the subject had convinced her that it was not Jon whom Mya loved.

“I know not what to do for her,” Randa sighed, “But I fear for more than just her heart.”

Sansa looked once more down to the village, “As do I.”

* * *

The sky was threatening a storm when Sansa finally made it to her destination. The Seaworth’s home was not unlike the Tarly’s, not quite so elegant as the houses of the landed gentry here abouts, and less then a quarter the size of Winterfell, but they were neat and tidy cottages, with two floors and ample windows. Sansa knocked on the door, and hoped she was not interrupting Mrs. Seaworth. _Marya_ … Sansa reminded herself.

“Come in, my dear!” Marya exclaimed as she opened the door and pulled Sansa inside, “I’m so happy you’ve come to see me!”

“I’m happy to see you as well,” Sansa greeted politely.

“Do come and sit,” Marya let them into a small but beautiful sitting room, where sewing sat upon one cushion and books and papers sat upon a desk. Sansa wondered if Davos and Marya did their work together here, like she and Jon did theirs in their study.

“I hope I’m not interrupting…”

“Not at all, I’ve been hoping you would come down and see me!” Marya said with a wide smile as she brought tea and biscuits into the sitting room on a tray.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Sansa said, as she accepted a cup of tea from Marya’s softly wrinkled hand. Marya had the beginnings of grey around the crown of her head, and smile lines at her eyes, but Sansa thought she looked quite beautiful.

“There is nothing to apologize for, I imagine you have been getting settled up at Winterfell, being a new bride takes some getting used to,” Marya said.

“Yes,” Sansa agreed softly, taking a sip of her tea.

“And I know Jon is all the better for your presence there,” Marya gripped her free hand and Sansa offered her a smile.

“I hope so.”

The light in Marya’s eyes did not fail, “I’m sure of it.”

Sansa could only nod.

“Do you find marriage agreeable?” Marya asked, with a curiously knowing, and sympathetic smile.

“Yes,” Sansa replied and looked down into her cup of tea.

“But?” Marya pressed, to Sansa’s surprise.

“It seems sometimes we are strangers still, and I know not how to remedy that,” Sansa confessed as she might to her mother, and the thought made Sansa sad.

“I know yours was not a marriage of passion, my dear, but do not lose heart, love will blossom yet,” Marya assured.

“Is love such a common thing? Or real at al?l” Sansa did not know that love was a true thing at all, let alone common.

“Love is both common and rare,” Marya replied cryptically.

Sansa looked up at her host, not sure what to make of such a comment. Marya only laughed and offered her another biscuit.

“I had thought to make shortbread this afternoon, would you care to sit in the kitchen with me?” Marya asked with a kind smile. Sansa nodded, feeling somewhat shy as the older lady led her by the hand, with their tea, to the small kitchen. Marya indicated a stool for Sansa to sit and began rummaging through the cabinets.

“Did your parents find love while they lived?” Marya asked.

Sansa smiled softly to herself, thinking of how her father used to catch her mother about the waist and kiss her, not caring who watched or who knew that he loved his wife, “they did.”

“And still you think love to not be a real thing?”

“I thought they were perhaps the exception to the rule.”

“And do you not think sweet Jon could come to love you, as your father loved your mother?” Marya asked with such genuine sincerity that Sansa felt like her heart was being cracked open.

“Jon…” She whispered, “He loved another once.”

“He told you this?”

“No, but others have.”

“And this concerns you?” Marya asked as she pulled ingredients for shortbread out and began to lay them across the table where Sansa sat.

“I think he may love her still,” Sansa confessed.

“Have you asked him?” Marya grinned at her.

“Well, no…” Sansa stammered, looking down into her tea once more, “But he seems so sad sometimes, I cannot help but think he pines for her.”

Marya grasped Sansa’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “Then perhaps you might help mend his heart?”

“To be a consolation prize?” Sansa asked bitterly, remembering Aegon’s words.

“No, my dear, but to bring him hope again, and perhaps in so doing he might mend your heart as well,” said Marya with a tender smile. Sansa wondered if her heart was so transparent to the older woman.

“Love should be like the songs and stories then?” Sansa asked, unable to keep the resentful sting from her words.

“No,” Marya touched her cheek, and Sansa looked at her trying to remember her own mother’s touch, “Love is not like the songs, but it is a real thing still,” Marya stroked her cheek, “In my experience the most stalwart loves bloom from friendship, not frenzied passion, and are stronger for being built rather than found,” Marya went back to sorting her ingredients and pouring flour in a large mixing bowl, “Love is far messier and far more painful than any song, it will rub you raw and break you, but it will also put you back together again and be the balm that soothes the hurt.”

Sansa did not know what to say. Marya gave her a gentle smile.

“Not all first loves are meant to last a lifetime no matter how true they might be, my dear, for the love of a man is different than the fevered love of a boy,” Marya chuckled then, “I would know too, for I have raised seven sons.”

Sansa grinned, “I’ve not made shortbread before, it is very Scottish yes?”

Marya laughed, “Aye, and my grandmother’s recipe. I know you have your cook up at the castle, but I’d be happy to share it with you.”

“I’d be honored,” Sansa smiled and came to stand beside Marya to learn.

Nearly an hour had passed, Sansa surmised, when the women’s laughter was interrupted by the front door opening. Davos strode into the kitchen with a wide grin upon his face.

“Storms blowing in ladies,” He said as he captured Marya and kissed her. Sansa smiled.

“And you are late,” Marya teasingly scolded her husband.

“Aye, it could not be helped,” Davos said, “But I was sent to fetch ya by young Master Tarly, its Gilly’s time.”

“Gilly’s having her baby now?” Sansa asked in alarm. She had seen their ewes give birth and nothing else, but she knew childbirth could be a perilous business.

“Aye, Sam said her pains set on this morning,” Davos explained.

“And I’m sorry to cut our time short, my dear, but I did promise I would be there for Gilly,” Marya said as she bustled about the kitchen.

“I’ll pull the wagon about for you,” Davos said.

“And I’ll go home,” Sansa said, starting toward the door.

Marya caught her hand, “No, you best come with me to the Tarly’s, I can’t have you wandering out alone when it looks like a storm is brewing, I’ll send Davos up to Winterfell to let Jon know where you be, so that he can come and fetch you.”

“Aye, Lady Sansa, I’ll let Jon know,” Davos said.

“First eat your supper, you look absolutely ragged,” Marya kissed his cheek.

“Yes, ma’am.”   
Sansa smiled at their affection.

Davos led them to the front of the house, and brought the wagon hitched to a pair of horses around for them. He handed each of them up and gave Marya her bag, “Give Gilly and Sam my best.”

“I will,” Marya said, and they were off toward the Tarly’s.

* * *

Every candle and lamp in the Tarly house appeared to be lit as they approached and rapped on the door. Sam answered looking fretful but glad to see them.

“How is she doing?” Marya asked, just as a loud groan was heard from upstairs. Sansa felt her stomach drop.

“Everything seems fine,” Sam said, a sheen of sweat visible on his brow, “Moving along nicely.”

“Good, good,” Marya patted his arm, “Lets go up and see her.”

Sansa was not sure whether to stay downstairs or to follow them, “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked rather helplessly.

“Sam and I could use an extra set of hands,” Marya gave her a kind smile. Sansa knew nothing of childbirth, but she wanted to be of use to her new friends and so she nodded, shoving down the fear that gripped her when another loud groan from upstairs met her ear. She followed Sam and Marya up the stairs. When they opened the door, Gilly lay on the bed panting and covered in sweat and Marya rushed to her side.

“My dear, why did you not call for me sooner?” Marya asked placing a gentle hand on Gilly’s knee.

“I thought I’d have a long time yet,” Gilly chuckled, though she was wincing in pain, “This little one’s coming much faster than Little Sam.”

“Just wait until your seventh,” Marya chuckled, and Gilly laughed as much as she could manage. Sansa felt frozen to the spot, completely lost. Marya set to work making Gilly as comfortable as possible, and Sam sat speaking soothing words to her and gently stroking her brow.

“Sansa come to Gilly’s other side here,” Marya instructed. Sansa obeyed wordlessly and Gilly smiled at her and clasped her hand. She looked so tired. Marya patted Gilly’s knee, “That’s it, my dear, take good deep breaths…”

Another pain gripped Gilly, and she released a bloodcurdling scream and gripped Sansa’s good hand hard.Sansa watched in something of a daze as Marya sat between Gilly’s bent knees, guiding her and encouraging her on. Sansa said nothing, only clutched Gilly’s hand.

The pains seemed to last hours and the room had grown hot and the light dim as the sun fully set. Distantly, Sansa thought she heard the front door open and footsteps moving around downstairs but had no time to dwell on the fact that it was likely Jon come to fetch her. 

“You’ll have your sweet baby soon, my dear,” Marya said with a mothering smile, and Gilly nodded. Sansa was not sure what she had imagined when she thought of childbirth, but it had not been the messy, painful, and wholly terrifying scene before her now. There was, however, love here too, she realized, as she watched through her fog of emotions, as Sam and Gilly whispered to each other or Sam held her hand or wiped her brow, for all his words about men not being needed in the birthing room, he did not leave her side. Exhaustion clouded Sansa’s vision, but she remained focused on her task, as Marya gave new instructions, moving Sansa’s hand to behind Gilly’s knee.

“The baby’s coming now!” Marya said calmly, and Gilly cried out in agony. Sansa’s heart was racing and she had begun to wonder if it would ever be over, when finally she watched, in fear and awe, as the little baby emerged into the world, and was soon followed by a little plaintive cry. Sansa felt tears gather in her eyes, as Gilly and Sam were openly weeping. Marya wrapped the babe in a blanket and gave the babe to Sansa to hand to Gilly. Sansa marveled at how small and slippery the infant was as she sat her upon Gilly’s chest. Sansa tried to wipe at her eyes, but the tears did not seem to want to go away. It had been many years since Sansa had cried in front of anyone and so she tried to keep them at bay.

“She’s beautiful,” Sansa whispered to Gilly and Gilly nodded and whispered _thank you_. As Gilly and Sam cooed over their new baby, Marya clasped Sansa’s hand.

“There’s love for you,” Marya said with a soft smile at the family, and Sansa’s tears were threatening to fall, “There’s still a bit to do here, my dear, but I do believe I can hear your husband’s pacing downstairs, better go take him home before he wears a hole in the floor.”

Sansa nodded, and Marya squeezed her hand once more, and not wishing to impose on the new family, she quietly left the room and shut the door behind her. She felt almost afraid as she walked down the stairs, knowing Jon was waiting for her below. It was a fear she did not recognize, though she was well acquainted with many fears. She tried to wipe at her eyes, but a few tears started to make trails down her cheeks. She reached the bottom of the stairs and came face to face with Jon. His hair was askew, as if he had been running his hands through it as he was prone to do, and he looked up at Sansa with wide eyes, as if he were the expectant father. Tears began to fall down her cheeks in earnest then, and he frowned and came to her.

“Is everything alright? Is Gilly? The baby?” He stammered out, reaching out to stroke Sansa’s arms.

“They’re fine, everything is fine,” Sansa cried, the tears refusing to stop, she tried to avert her eyes from his, but he would have none of it as he bent to catch her gaze once more.

Jon smiled gently at her, “Then why are you weeping?”

She looked at him then, and only cried more, “I don’t know.”

He chuckled sweetly and pulled her into his arms, and soothingly stroked her hair for a few moments. Sansa wrapped her arms around his waist and took a few fortifying breaths. She leaned her forehead against his chest. He was always so warm and solid.

“Let’s take you home, you’re exhausted,” Jon said softly, and before she knew what he was doing, he lifted her in his arms and carried her outside. The rain had slowed to a light sprinkle, and Jon wrapped her in a blanket, and set her in front of him on his horse, and together they rode home.


	18. The Copper Tub (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's love for this story has absolutely blown me away, and I am so grateful to you all for commenting and encouraging me! I appreciate you all for reading!
> 
> Here is our next little chapter, working toward getting these two in love!

Jon stood with his arm against the Tarly’s mantle piece alongside Sam and Aegon as all in the room cooed over the new baby girl. Gilly gave the baby to Sansa. She had a rather terrified look upon her face as the infant was placed in her arms, but she held the babe close to her breast as if she had been holding babies her whole life. Jon smiled at the endearing rapture in her eyes as she stared down at the infant. They had not spoken again of children since the day they had both affirmed their desire for them, but as Jon watched her, he wondered what it was that she was thinking behind those beautiful, ocean blue eyes.

“She’s lovely,” Sansa crooned, as if she had not seen the child the night of her birth. Her unpracticed sweetness made Jon’s heart warm.

“Aye, indeed, she is,” Gilly beamed.

“She takes after her mother then,” said Aegon with chuckle, clapping Sam, who wholeheartedly agreed, on the shoulder. Jon leaned over Sansa’s shoulder and studied the baby.

“I think I see a bit of Sam in her eyes, but the rest belongs to Gilly,” Jon said with a grin.

Sansa looked up at him and smiled, “Do you want to hold her, Jon?”

“What? Me?” Jon straightened, alarmed at her suggestion. Jon had never held an infant so small, not even Little Sam when he was born.

“Yes, you,” Sansa said softly as she stood and came to be in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam and Gilly sharing secret smiles and wondered what they were on about.

“She’s so small…” Jon protested, “What if I drop her…”

“You won’t drop her,” Sansa looked into his eyes, “You’ve held newborn lambs and not dropped them…”

“Lambs are different,” Jon swallowed.

“Aye, lambs are different,” Sansa agreed but she smiled, “But you have a gentle touch, I think you will manage.”

Sansa very carefully put the baby in Jon’s hands, and he thought he might be trembling. The tiny baby nearly fit in his palms. Sansa’s hand brushed his as she relinquished her hold on the child, leaving her entirely in Jon’s hands.

“I think you will be a natural father, Jon,” said Gilly. Jon and Sansa’s eyes met, and he could discern a hint of pink on her cheeks before she looked away from him.

The conversation continued but Jon continued to stare down at the little baby in his arms and wondered what it would be like to hold a child of his own in his arms. To his fear, the baby’s face grew red and she released a little cry.

Sam and Gilly chuckled, likely at the utter terror on his face.

“What happened?” He asked.

Gilly came over to him then and smiled as she reached for the baby, whom Jon gratefully relinquished, “It’s alright, Jon, babies cry sometimes, nothing to be afeard of, more than likely she’s just hungry.”

Was it longing in Sansa’s eyes that he saw, as Gilly cradled the infant to her?

When it became obvious that Gilly, still recovering from the birth, was growing weary and the baby needed a feed, Sansa, Jon and Aegon made their farewells and congratulations and departed. In the yard, Aegon swept onto his horse.

“And where are you off too?” Jon could not help but ask, though he knew very well that Aegon was likely to be going to see Miss Tyrell, who would soon be quitting Wintertown to return home to England.

“I’m off to town, will likely not be back till late,” Aegon said and with a click of his tongue to his horse, he was dashing down the road.

“He’s so often in a hurry,” Sansa said with a sigh as they turned to walk back toward their castle.

“Aye, he’s always like that when he visits, even when there was no Miss Tyrell to keep him company,” Jon said tersely.

“I wonder what it is that drives him to be so restless,” Sansa commented, as they began down the lane together. Tentatively, unsure how she would react, Jon reached for Sansa’s hand and twined their fingers together. She looked at their hands for a moment but did not protest.

“He oft seems determined to not be left alone with his own thoughts, its why he cannot seem to keep to Dragonstone, and Dragonstone suffers for it,” Jon explained.

“How do you mean?”

“Like we do, Dragonstone has tenants and business matters, and yet Lord Targaryen is never there to attend to them save maybe once or twice a year,” Jon said, “Our father left behind many assets and Aegon treats them with a careless indifference, much like many of the women he has courted.”

“I worry for him,” Sansa confessed, and Jon squeezed her hand. How she could already worry over the fate of someone she barely knew baffled him and made that warm fondness he felt for her grow into something akin to affection.

Jon smiled at her, “Do you?”

“He’s family,” She said softly, “I’d be sorry to see him come to harm, even if it be by his own indiscretions, for all his faults I do believe he has a good heart still.”

Jon brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. Aegon was her family now, and that seemed enough for her to care about his future. Her generous heart almost shamed him in his own hesitance to extend love and mercy to Aegon. It was not that he did not love his brother, but so much had built up between them over the years, even before the hand Aegon played in revealing Jon and Ygritte’s affections to their Uncle, that the wall seemed insurmountable. Jon sighed. Whenever he thought of Ygritte all he felt was shame and guilt, and though oft times he wanted to lash out and lay blame upon his family for her death, he knew he had played his own role in her end.

“ _You_ have a good heart,” Jon said and delighted in how she blushed prettily, as she always did when he gave her compliments.

“Will I ever meet the rest of your family?” She surprised him by asking.

“I…” Jon raked his free hand through his hair, “I suppose one day, should they ever deign to visit.”

“And you do not ever visit them?”

“I… I’ve not seen them in several years,” said Jon.

She nodded and gnawed on her lower lip, like she might say something, but decided against it.

Jon chuckled, “You can scold me if you wish.”

She smiled the saddest smile he had ever seen, “If I still had family who wanted me, I would not be so quick to shun them.”

Jon could not stop himself from wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and pressing a kiss against her soft hair, “We’re each other’s family now.”

Sansa nodded, as she looped an arm around his waist. Their innocent touches had become more common over the last few days, and Jon hoped that it indicated a growing comfort and companionship between the two of them. The night Gilly had given birth, he had taken Sansa home riding upon his horse with him and she had nearly fallen asleep against his chest. That night they had lain in bed together and Jon had lain awake for a long while listening to Sansa’s soft breaths beside him as he tried to account for the emotions, she had stirred in him. He did not quite have names for these emotions, but she moved him, as if rousing him from some long, self-imposed slumber and thrusting him back into the land of the wakeful.

“I need to go to the West pasture this afternoon, we’re clearing it to make way for a winter wheat crop,” Jon said, keeping their fingers entwined as the castle came into view.

“So, we will be sheep, cows, barley, and winter wheat farmers then?” Sansa smiled.

“Yes, we shall,” said Jon, “Prices for barley dropped at the last barley market, and so I want to have another cash crop to fall back on in the event that prices drop again.”

“Is barley our main source of income?” Sansa asked curiously.

“We actually make quite a lot on wool,” Jon explained, “Though we would do even better if we could spin it ourselves instead of selling it raw.”

“Could we not start an enterprise for the spinning of wool into cloth?” Sansa asked casually. Jon looked at her in surprise for voicing a thought that was only an infant idea in his own mind, but before he could respond, Sansa gasped and released his hand and practically skipped to the side of the road. She stooped to pick some flowers from the ground, and she looked up at him, nearly beaming, “I’ve been looking for these blooms again!”

“Have you?” Jon chuckled at the turn of her mind from business to flowers.

“Yes, I did not see them when we walked down,” Sansa explained as she gathered a small bouquet in her hands, “I tried to explain them to Podrick only yesterday but he could not tell me what they were without seeing them, he’s been helping me learn the flora and fauna, for being unschooled he is quite bright.”

“And very helpful it seems,” Jon said, wincing at the bite in his tone. Luckily, Sansa did not notice. Jon could tell her about crops, and weather, and animals, but he could not name all the local wildflowers for her, no matter how much he might like too.

* * *

The afternoon sun grew warm as the men worked toward clearing the West pasture. Not one to stand aside and observe, Jon removed his waist coat and set to work beside his workers and Davos. By the time the afternoon waned, Jon had unbuttoned his shirt to reveal part of his chest, and had half a mind to take it off, he had grown so warm.

“Looks like your lady has come down for a visit,” Davos said as he and Jon worked toward digging out a stump. Jon looked up to see Sansa with Marya, and Alysanne Mormont from the village distributing water to the working men. Jon smiled and wiped sweat from his brow. “I’m happy to see you smiling again,” Davos commented.

“Did I not smile before?” Jon laughed, shrugging off the comment.

“Before what?” Davos asked with chuckle and a glance back at Sansa.

“Should I not smile at her?” Jon asked.

“I think you’ve grown fond of her.”

“Aye, I have,” Jon agreed honestly, “She’s different than I imagined…”

“How so?”

“I don’t know how to explain it properly,” Jon said, hoping to evade this line of questioning, not being one to examine his feelings too closely.

Davos only looked at him.

Jon sighed, “I don’t know… it is not like I was expecting her to not be agreeable, but maybe I thought her being brought up in England amongst the gentry, that perhaps she would be…” Jon trailed off.

“Like Jeyne Poole or Wylla Manderly?” Davos asked bluntly.

“Maybe, but Sansa… she’s, she’s….” Jon stumbled over his words.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know,” Jon grumbled going back to hacking at the stubborn stump, “She’s soft and strong and sweet, and I’m not sure how she can be all, but she is,” Jon tried, “And she’s whip smart too, she has taken to book keeping as if she were born to it, I have half a mind to let her have the business ledgers to,” though he would not, as he valued their time together doing the books too much to relinquish them.

“I wonder…” Davos started looking up at Sansa’s once more.

“You wonder?”

“I still wonder how it is that a man like Ned Stark did not see to it that she was better provided for,” Davos said, “He may not have been able to leave her the Castle and a title but surely there was something…”

“There was…” Jon confirmed flatly.

“What do you mean?”

“The new solicitor I hired and I have been pouring over document after document regarding the estate’s many holdings, and found that there was a sum left to Sansa in the care of the prior solicitor who was somehow released from his duties before I came of age to inherit,” Jon said.

“What happened?” Davos asked, obviously taken aback by this information.

“There was an intervening gap of six years between Ned Stark’s death and my coming of age to take charge of the Winterfell estate, and during that time, I had very little knowledge about the handling of affairs,” Jon said, “And so I don’t know if it was the Baratheon’s or the Baelish’s, but one of them had Ned Stark’s solicitor in their pocket and used their influence with him to gain control of the inheritance that was left for Sansa, which included a small living and a sizable dowry for when she came of age.”

“What happened to it?”

Jon stood straight and took a breath, “Baelish claimed that no money was left for Sansa, that her father left her destitute and dependent on the kindness of relatives, but the documents I have in my possession demonstrate that was not true.”

“Do you plan on confronting them?”

“I had thought too, but that was before I met Baelish in person,” Jon sighed, “After I met him, I determined it was more prudent to remove Sansa from the situation than to demand answers over money that was already gone, as I have no proof which of her guardians stole the money.”

Davos nodded, scratching his beard, “So you married her?”

“Aye, so I married her,” Jon said softly, as he looked over at his lovely wife, who was smiling.

“Does she know?”

“No!” Jon exclaimed, “And you are not to tell her either. I don’t think she’d take too kindly to the knowledge that Baelish insisted I pay him for her living expenses over the last few years before releasing her to me.”

“You paid Baelish off?” Davos looked a little stunned.

“I paid him to keep him out of my life and out of hers,” Jon said firmly, “You should have heard him speak of her, Davos, a man who should have been protecting her… I just… I could not leave her there.”

“I think Lady Sansa might wish to know these details,” Davos said with measured calm, “As delicate as they are it would be unfortunate if she were to hear of them from a source other than you.”

Jon looked up at Sansa who was laughing with the women folk. She caught his eye and smiled.

“Aye, perhaps you are right, I need to find the right time,” Jon said.

“She’ll not hear it from me, I swear it,” Davos said.

Jon shook Davos’ hand, “I know that, Davos, I know I can rely on you.”

The two men quieted when Marya and Sansa approached them with water.

“You two robust men seemed to be putting in a full day’s work,” Marya chuckled and she gave Davos her water jug.

Sansa seemed content to stare at Jon, though he could not think why. He knew he was quite dirty, perhaps she was put off by this? However, she had that rather shy look in her eyes once more, and so he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Will you be home for supper?” She asked him.

“I’ll likely be late,” Jon said, “I want to make sure the men have what they need after putting in such a long day. Don’t wait for me.”

She bit her lower lip and nodded. Sansa swept her eyes up and down him, before turning away.

“I’ll have Cook set aside some supper for you,” said Sansa as she and Marya began to head back toward the other girls. She looked over her shoulder once more as she went and Jon smiled at her, making her cheeks turn pink.

* * *

The sun had long been set when Jon finally arrived back at the castle. His shoulders were sore, and he knew he reeked of sweat. Creeping up the stairs, he tried to be as quiet as possible, in case Sansa was already asleep. When he entered his chamber, however, he heard her singing, and then whispering to Ghost. He opened the door to the study to find her bedroom door open, and he could just see her laying on the big bed on her stomach with Ghost by her side.

“You’re back!” She greeted with a smile.

“I’m back,” He smiled in return, and rubbed at his shoulder. She stood and came to stand in front of him, taking his hand.

“I’ve drawn you a bath,” She said quickly indicating the tub in front of her hearth. The words fell out of her mouth in rapid succession as if she had not fully decided if she were going to tell him or not. Jon grinned at her.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, I could not pull the tub into your chamber on my own… I did not want to bother the servants…”

Jon chuckled, “You know, I have a tub of my own in the dressing room…”

“Oh,” now she looked embarrassed and he could not have that. He drew her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Tapadh leat leannan.”

She smiled and looked as if she were going to ask him a question but thought better of it. Jon rubbed her arm, and she looked like she might bolt at any moment.

“I also had cook bring you up some supper,” Sansa said, as she pointed to the table by her window and started to back up toward the study, “I hope it isn’t cold, the food I mean… well, I hope the water is not cold either its been in front of the fire…”

Her sweetness would undo him. Curious as to how she would react, Jon removed his filthy shirt.

Obviously flustered, she looked down at the ground, “I’ll just… I’ll just be in the study if you need anything…”

“You can…” Jon smiled at her and her cheeks turned bright red, “You can stay if you want…”

“Stay?” She asked with a hard swallow.

“Aye,” Jon said, “You could read to me… if you like.”

“Shouldn’t you have a bath?” Sansa asked.

“Aye, I was planning on it.”

“You want me to read to you while you have your bath?” She asked softly with eyes wide, there was a tremor in her voice, and her face was now as red as her hair.

“If you wish it…” He whispered, taking a step closer to her. He could hear her breathing.

She nodded and turned her back to him to retrieve their book from the bedside table.

Jon started to unlace his breeches, “Don’t be peeking now,” He teased, hoping to make her laugh, “I couldn’t have you staring at my nakedness.”

She released a soft, almost indiscernible giggle and kept her back to him until he settled in the large copper tub. Jon leaned his head back to look at her as she crawled onto the bed next to Ghost and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon finishes his bath (Sansa POV)


	19. Leannan (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit. This chapter is mostly fluffy but I hope everyone enjoys! Thank you so much for your encouraging comments and for reading!

Sansa sat on the bed reading aloud to Jon who was still in the bath. For a time she thought he had fallen asleep when she had not heard him move, and so she started to steal glances at him, until he caught her looking, and smiled at her as if she were doing something sly. Ghost lay beside her on the bed, occasionally nudging her hand for pats and scratches. She was in the midst of one these pauses, showering her affection on Ghost, when Jon interrupted her thoughts.

“Sansa…”

She looked up to find him watching her, with a sheepish look upon his face, “Yes?”

“Um…” He chuckled, his eyes twinkling in the firelight, “Might you pass me a linen?”

Sansa felt her cheeks heat. She had forgotten to place a towel for drying near to the tub.

“Yes,” She replied softly, and rose from the bed. Crossing the room and bringing the linen to the tub, she had intended to hand it to him and leave the room so that he could dry in privacy, but then their eyes met and she glanced down at the parts of him that she could see above the cloudy water. Jon’s shoulders were strong and broad, and he had a large, crescent shaped scar above his heart. He noticed her scrutiny and it seemed to make him bold and he stood from the tub. Sansa averted her eyes as he stood, with water dripping down his chest, but she held the linen up for him to wrap around himself.

“Thank you,” He whispered, as he tucked the cloth around himself.

“It’s only a towel,” She whispered in return, keeping her eyes averted, and starting to step back from him. Before she could retreat, Jon sank his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of head, and captured her lips with his in the sweetest kiss she had ever known.

“Not just for the towel,” Jon said gruffly, nuzzling against her cheek and leaning his forehead against hers, “For the water in the field, and the bath, and supper…”

“These are all little things…” Sansa replied, feeling her stomach flutter at his nearness.

“Not to me,” he said, and pressed his lips to hers once more as he took a step toward her. Sansa felt like her heart would burst from her chest with how fast it was beating. Jon brushed his lips across her cheek, and took another step into her space, causing her to take a tentative step back, and when she did another tender kiss halted her retreat. Placing her hand on his strong arm to steady herself, she wondered vaguely what had gotten into him to kiss her so. His dark eyes seemed even darker as he gazed at her. He was so very close… Sansa could scarcely breathe.

“You need to dry,” She whispered logically.

“Aye,” He said, though he made no move to pull away from her.

He kissed her again and Sansa’s eyes slid closed for a moment. She felt his hand that was not tangled in her loose hair, slip around to the small of her back. Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, Sansa looked up at him.

“Na biodh eagal ort leannan,” Jon said gruffly, “Don’t be afraid.”

She was trembling but looked into his eyes, “I’m… I’m not afraid…”

He smiled and nuzzled his nose against hers, though his eyes said he did not quite believe her. Kissing her forehead, he released her.

“I’m going to my chamber to dry and dress,” said Jon, “I’ll be back.”

Sansa nodded, and could not take her eyes from his strong back as he strode through the open door to the study before closing himself in his own chambers. Sansa swallowed and nearly collapsed on the bed. Ghost nudged her making her smile.

“Perhaps you might sleep between us tonight,” Sansa said with a breathless giggle, her hands still shaking. Ghost perked his ears up and cocked his head at her. Sansa looked back at the doorway, and bit her lip once more, the thought of his strong arms and back making her blush once more, “Or perhaps not…”

When Jon returned not ten minutes later, Sansa had buried herself under their blankets, and she thought him determined to turn her cheeks scarlet.

“Where’s your shirt?” She blurted out, as she could not help but stare at his bare chest.

“In my room,” He grinned at her so brazenly that she had half a mind to scold him like a naughty little boy, “Do you want me to fetch it?”

“Well, I hardly think it’s proper to be so uncovered,” She said, though she feared she sounded like a sour little girl.

“And whose to know but you and me?” Jon asked, still smirking at her, obviously enjoying getting a rise from her.

“I suppose no one…” She grumbled crossing her arms over her chest. Jon crawled onto the bed and was suddenly hovering over her. She looked up at him pulling the blanket as she could up to her chin.

“In some places, they sleep without a stitch upon them,” Jon chuckled.

“And where would these places be?” Sansa demanded to know.

Jon laughed, “France?”

Sansa playfully rolled her eyes, “I think you are telling tales.”

“Perhaps.”

“We’re not French,” Sansa said.

Jon collapsed on the bed beside her but was still grinning at her, he placed a warm hand on her belly, making her quiver, “No.”

She bit her lip and offered him a shy smile.

“I will retrieve it if you wish it,” Jon offered, his laughter gone, and his gentle eyes returned.

Sansa considered him for a moment, “Do you usually sleep without a shirt?”

“Yes, though to tell you true, when the weather’s fine I am one of those souls who sleeps without a stitch upon them.”

“Well,” she looked down at his chest again, and he grinned at her, “I suppose it would do no harm to sleep without your shirt, as you say, who’s to know but you and me?”

He laughed and kissed her cheek, “Thank you, wife.”

Jon rolled onto his back and Sansa rolled to her side to watch him, when he noticed her scrutiny, he smiled at her. Sansa’s eyes studied the scars on his chest, reaching out with a tentative hand she touched the one above his heart. Jon’s eyes grew serious.

“How did you get these?”

“Bayonets in the dark,” Jon said softly, and almost too casually.

Sansa ran her finger along the jagged mark, and this time Jon’s breathing grew shallow.

“Do you find them unsightly?” He asked, with a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Sansa met his eyes, “No,” She flattened her palm against his chest, “You’re strong…I… I like that about you.”

He smiled tenderly.

“I’m sorry for the pain though,” Sansa said, “I cannot imagine it.”

Jon leaned toward her and kissed her. He seemed unable to keep his hands to himself this evening… or rather his lips… “I do believe your sweetness will undo me.”

Sansa chuckled, not sure she quite believed him.

He sighed, and rolled to his side so that they were face to face, “I’ve… I’ve…” he stammered, “I’ve not been cared for much… in my life…”

The thought made Sansa sad. She lifted her hand from his chest and stroked his bearded cheek.

“I’ve learnt to care for myself in the… the absence of a mother as a child…” He confessed, “… I was a burden to all my caretakers… I learned to ask for nothing and to need nothing…”

Sansa heard some of her own wounds reflected in his. Jon brought his hand up to stroke her cheek, and to her satisfaction she did not flinch from his touch.

“And so, when you draw me baths…” He said softly, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, “And save me supper… these are not little things to me…”

Sansa nodded. She understood, perhaps more than he realized. Taking a chance before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Jon’s. For a moment, he seemed to freeze, as if he had forgotten how to kiss between the tub, his chambers and the bed. Having never initiated any of their kisses, Sansa nearly pulled away for fear she had been too brazen… but then, Jon sank his hands into her hair, and nearly growled as he kissed her in return, passionately, deeper than any kiss Sansa had ever known. Something warm and foreign seemed to unfurl in the pit of her stomach. One of Jon’s hands dropped to her waist, urging her closer, and though she felt shy doing so, she obeyed his gentle prompting. She pressed her body close to his, and he held her and kissed her and ran his fingers through her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. Never in all her life past had she fallen asleep so easily and so content.

* * *

Sansa sat cross-legged on the fringes of the west pasture, picking wild strawberries in a grove she had stumbled upon in her explorations. Perhaps Cook could teach her to make a pie with them? Or perhaps she could take some to old Nan who surely had little strength to cultivate such delicacies herself? In the distance, she could see Jon working with and overseeing the continued clearing of the west pasture to make space for the planting of their winter wheat. Thinking of his tender kisses from the night before made butterflies in her stomach. She had never known that a kiss could make her feel such things. Every so often, she saw Jon looking in her direction as if to ensure all was well and that she was safe in her little grove half hidden by the tall grasses. More and more as the days passed, Sansa found his eyes on her, studying her as if she were a puzzle for him to solve. If she had not found him to be so very kind since their marriage, she may have found his scrutiny unnerving… but now she did not know quite what to make of it. Grabbing her basket full of strawberries, Sansa stood, intent on sharing her spoils with old Nan, and walked toward Jon to tell him where she was going. He was smiling at her as she approached, as she hoisted her long skirts, now damp, to wade through the grass.

“Have you found more wildflowers?” He asked with a grin upon his face.

“Strawberries,” Sansa held up her basket for his inspection. Grinning, Jon reached into her basket and snatched one before she could stop him, “They are not for you.”

“Are they not?” Jon teased, wrapping an arm about her waist.

“I intend to take some to Old Nan, and perhaps Mya should like some as well,” Sansa grinned, “I suspect there will hardly be any left for you at all.”

Shaking his head, and with mirth in his eyes, Jon replied, “Tis quite cruel to deprive me of strawberries, wife.”

Reaching into her basket, Sansa offered him one more, “Here now… not so deprived after all.”

Jon ate the strawberry straight from her fingers, with a wicked grin upon his face. Sansa felt her cheeks flush, and she smacked his arm, and strode away to the sound of his laughter.

* * *

On the lane toward the village, Sansa hummed to herself and nearly startled when a small person frolicked up beside her without warning.

“Good afternoon, m’lady,” said little Lyanna Mormont with a sour expression upon her face.

“Good Afternoon, Lyanna,” Sansa greeted, and offered the little girl a smile which was not returned, “What has you out today?”

“Family business,” said Lyanna quite seriously.

“Where’s your sisters?”

“Working.”

“And you are alone?” Sansa asked, though she imagined it to be a naïve question.

“I run our household,” said Lyanna, proudly, “Who is to do the chores and mind our garden and chickens, while Dacey and Alysanne are a’working, especially now that Lyra is wed, and Joree be working for Mrs. Manderly and staying there too.”

They all lived such hard lives, Sansa wished there was something she could do to ease them, “When do you have time for school?”

“I haven’t time for schoolin’,” Lyanna informed her, as if the question were an ignorant one. Perhaps it was? “Like I said, I have to run…”

“Run the household,” Sansa finished for her. They continued toward the village in an uncomfortable silence, until Sansa could not take it anymore, “I’ve got some wild strawberries…”

Lyanna gave her a stern look.

“Would you like one?” Sansa offered, holding the basket out. Lyanna studied her as if she expected to be tricked, “I was taking some to share with Mya Stone and Old Nan, but there is enough…”

Lyanna looked into the basket, and back at Sansa, “I don’t need charity strawberries.”

Sansa tried not to laugh, “They’re not charity, I found them growing in the wild.”

Lyanna glared at her again as if trying to root out some ulterior motive.

Sansa smiled then, “Jon would be pleased for you to have a few.”

Lyanna said nothing in response to that, though the little girl’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink though her eyes remained steely. For a moment, Lyanna was silent again, before she reached into Sansa’s basket and took three strawberries. Sansa had to hide a triumphant grin.

“You’ll not find Mya at her place,” Lyanna said with her mouth full.

“Oh?”

“She’s not half so clever as she thinks she be,” Lyanna grumbled as they entered the village and made for Old Nan’s door first.

“And why is that?”

“I saw her with her fancy lad, and she thinks she’s so secretive,” said Lyanna.

“Do you know who it was?” Sansa inquired, trying to act casually.

“Did not see his face,” said Lyanna, “He did not look at all like Jon. He was tall with flaxen hair, and I cannot imagine him to be very handsome.”

Sansa chuckled at the description, though an unwelcome face danced through her mind as Mya’s possible suitor.

“I’m too see old Nan now, Lyanna, but perhaps you might wish to come up to the castle sometime and we can visit together?” Sansa asked the little girl.

Lyanna looked at her with flinty, grey eyes, “Perhaps,” said the little girl as she started to skip off, “That is if I have the time!”

Sansa could only chuckle and shake her head.

Sansa knocked on Old Nan’s door, and was answered by a cackle of, “Come in!” by the old woman. Sansa opened the door slowly and let herself into the dimly lit cottage. To her surprise, Sam stood on the other side with a grim smile upon his face.

“Sansa!”

“Sam!” Sansa smiled at him.

Sam looked at Old Nan who was sitting stone faced on the bed in the corner of the room.

“How are you?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Sam said in his sweet stuttering way, “Just been around to check on Nan.”

Nan scoffed, drawing both their eyes in her direction.

“Is all well?” Sansa asked.

“Oh, yes,” Sam said though he looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“And Gilly and the baby, are they well?”

“Yes, quite lovely, Gilly would love to have you around for tea some time,” Sam said with his usual congenial smile, “I think she feels rather like a hostage.”

“Please tell her, I will try to come round tomorrow.”

“I will,” Sam said. 

Nan scoffed again in their direction.

“Hello, Nan,” Sansa greeted happily as she put her basket on Nan’s table, “Are you well?”

She and Sam exchanged looks.

“As well as anyone my age can be my dear,” said Nan, who stood and hobbled over to the table and sat down already out of breath from crossing the small room. Sam’s face was grim.

“I’ve brought strawberries from our field,” Sansa smiled, “Do you have a bowl that I might share some with you?”

“Strawberries should brighten you,” said Sam, and Old Nan scoffed again.

Nan pointed to a bowl on a shelf and Sansa retrieved it and began to laden it with strawberries, being sure to save enough for Jon. Nan was uncharacteristically quiet.

“All’s well, Lady Catelyn,” said Nan, now staring off blankly at the wall.

“It’s Sansa, Nan,” Sansa corrected, somewhat disturbed by the haunted look in Nan’s eyes. She looked at Sam, and Sam’s eyes were terribly sad.

“Are the children well?” Nan asked, patting her hand.

“Children?”

“Nothing so precious in this life as the children,” Nan said.

Sansa knelt in front of Nan, “What’s wrong, Nan?” she whispered, taking the old lady’s hand in hers.

“That fat doctor says I’m going blind,” Nan grumbled, “Though I don’t recollect calling for any doctor, did you?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“No.”

“Maybe it was my man,” Nan’s voice cracked, and a few tears filled her eyes, “ _Mo Leannan_ , he always does look out for me, Lady Catelyn.”

“Nan, you should rest,” Sansa urged, though she made note of the word. _Leannan_. Jon had used that word many times with her.

“I’ll have time to rest a’plenty when I’m dead,” said Nan with another scoff, and then she looked at Sansa as if she was seeing her for the first time, “Lady Sansa, tis good of you to come my dear.”

“Any time, Nan.”   
“I think a rest of her eyes would be good,” Sam said.

“Come, Nan, lets have you rest,” Sansa prompted, and Nan followed her lead toward the bed. As Sansa helped her back down onto the bed, and pulled a tattered blanket around her, Nan patted her cheek.

“When should we expect a babe from you?” Nan asked, “Your mother’d be very happy to hold a grandchild…”

Sansa felt tears well in her eyes, “Yes, she would.”

“Where’d she go?” Nan asked in alarm, “She was here only a moment ago.”

“She was needed back at the castle, Nan,” Sansa said, her heartbreaking with every word.

“Jon’d be very proud too if you gave him a babe.”

Sansa nodded, “Yes, yes he would.”

“Nothing’s so precious in this life as the children,” Nan reiterated. Sansa and Sam shared troubled looks, as Sansa held Nan’s hand until she fell asleep.

Once Nan was settled, Sam offered to walk back with her as far as the Tarly cottage.

“What’s wrong with her do you think?” Sansa asked, her heart grieved for Nan.

“She is losing her sight,” Sam said with a sigh, “But she’s seen quite a few years, and no one, not even her, is truly sure how old she is.”

Sansa nodded sadly.

“I expect that along with her sight, her mind is slipping from us as well.”

Sansa wanted to cry, but refrained, “That’s why she thinks I’m my mother.”

“And why she thinks her husband is still about sometimes,” Sam nodded grimly.

“When she spoke of her husband…” Sansa started timidly, “She used a gaelic word… _leannan_. What does it mean?”

“It’s a term of endearment, it means _sweetheart_ , or in the context which she used, _my sweetheart_ ,” Sam explained.

 _Sweetheart_ … another tear tried to escape, as she thought of Jon’s soft words to her last night. _Don’t be afraid sweetheart_. He had called her sweetheart before, in fact he had been calling her that for several weeks on occasion, and she never knew.

“How long will she live?” Sansa asked, bringing her mind back to the moment.

“Hard to say,” said Sam with a tired sigh, “But she’s had a good life, whatever the case, long and full, according to her she had seven children and loved a good man, and though poor, she was happy.”

Sansa looked down at the dirt road, feeling a curious ache inside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon comes in from the field to a bowl of strawberries (Undecided POV)


	20. Strawberries (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit. I hope it turned out alright and everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments, you all are giving me life while I'm shut up in my house all by myself during this quarantine.

“Just so you are aware, that wolf of yours is a menace,” said Davos with a laugh, as he and Jon walked onto the Seaworth property. Marya had invited Jon down from the fields for tea before he was to go to town. Jon had nearly refused, not wanting to delay his trip to town for fear it would delay him from being on time for supper, but he never could refuse Marya.

Jon chuckled, as he followed Davos not to the house, but to the barn, “Ghost? What has he done to you?”

“Well, nothing to me specifically,” Davos opened the door to the barn and then to a stall, “But I had thought to breed our Collie to sell some good herding pups, but it seems your wolf got to her first.”

Jon looked into the stall to see the black and white Collie surrounded by five tiny pups, the look of two of the pups made it blatantly clear that Ghost had fathered them. They looked just like him except with a smattering of grey in their white fur. Jon chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, Davos,” Jon apologized, “I’ll make sure he sticks closer to the house from now on.”

Smiling, Davos patted Jon’s arm, “No harm done, lad, but these poor pups are going to be confused growing up, not knowing whether to hunt or herd.”

“Did you show him?” Marya’s amused voice came from behind them.

“Aye, I showed him,” Davos said, turning and looping his arm around Marya’s waist.

“They are beautiful pups,” Marya said to Jon.

“They are,” Jon said with a smile looking back in the stall for a moment, before following Marya and Davos outside and to their house.

“You should have told Sansa to come down with you,” Marya said as they settled in the Seaworth’s parlor and she handed Jon a cup of tea.

“She was making a trip down to the village to see Old Nan and Mya Stone,” Jon explained.

“We will all have to take dinner sometime,” Marya said.

Jon smiled, “I think we would like that very much.”

Davos sat holding Marya’s hand, and Jon felt a curious ache bloom in his heart. He wanted to be like Davos and Marya when he grew old, and he wondered if he and Sansa would come to care for one another enough that they would want to hold hands even as they aged. Jon sighed to himself, knowing that they must first branch beyond a few fervent kisses before they were able to build the type of marriage that Davos and Marya had.

“Do you find married life agreeable, Jon?” Marya asked with a mischievous grin behind her teacup.

Jon rubbed the back of his neck, “Yes, quite.”

“You seem rather taken with your bride,” Marya pressed.

“Marya…” Davos said in warning.

Jon chuckled, “It’s alright Davos.”

Marya smiled at him.

“She’s not what I expected,” Jon said, for he knew it to be the truth. Sansa stirred things in him that he did not know how to name.

“And how do you find her instead?”

“She’s… she’s… sweet,” Jon found himself blushing like a boy.

Marya and Davos exchanged bemused smiles.

“I don’t know,” Jon raked a hand through his hair, “She makes me want to protect her… and look after her…”

“Love her?” Marya asked.

“Marya…” Davos scolded.

“Tis only a question, my love,” Marya took Davos’ hand and gave it a squeeze.

 _Love her? Could Jon love her? Did he still believe that he could find love?_ Jon looked down at his hands and sighed, “Perhaps… in time…” He confessed, for he did not know what else to say.

* * *

Jon left his business meeting with other owners of large flocks of sheep, frustrated and tired, ready to be home with his wife. He had already missed supper and had not been able to tell her that he would not be home. As he crossed the street, Jon saw Aegon coming out of the inn and sighed. Aegon caught sight of him.

“Brother!” Aegon smiled easily as if nothing were amiss, “Care for some company on the ride back to Winterfell.”

“I suppose, if your… business in town is taken care of,” Jon said pointedly, as the two men mounted their horses and started down the road.

Aegon cleared his throat but continued on shamelessly, “Did you leave Sansa at the castle to fend for herself?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Sansa is aware that I occasionally have to come to town to deal with business matters,” Jon said.

Aegon cringed, “Do you not hire anyone to care for your business matters?”

“Davos overseas my staff, but I see no reason to not deal with my own business dealings,” Jon said, “For an estate to truly flourish, one must take an active hand in it.”

“Are you trying to teach me something, brother?” Aegon asked with an irritating laugh.

“I don’t know, Aegon, is there something you need to be taught?” Jon countered, “When is the last time you were at Dragonstone?”

Aegon nearly scowled, “I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”

“You’re my brother, Aegon, and Dragonstone is our family seat, of course I take an interest in it,” Jon said.

“Well, perhaps father should have left it to you,” Aegon bit back, “For it has given me nothing but grief.”

“You have hardly been there since you inherited,” Jon scoffed, “How can it give you grief?”

“I know you had no love for our father…” Aegon started, but Jon felt anger growing hot inside him.

“I had no love for our father?” Jon snapped, “T’was he who had no love for me!”

“How could he? When you were the product of his indiscretions!” Aegon hissed.

“Father was married to my mother, just as he was to yours before!” Jon growled.

“Yes, but there always was some discrepancy surrounding the timing of your birth, was there not?” Aegon sneered.

Jon took a few steadying breaths… as all brothers did, Aegon knew where to hurt Jon the most… he always had. Sighing Aegon goaded his horse forward to catch up with Jon.

“You may as well know,” Aegon said, his voice returning to its carefree tone, “Dragonstone is broke.”

Jon felt as though someone had slapped him, “How?”

“Poor investments,” Aegon said flatly, “And a few poorly timed gambling ventures of my own.”

“Aegon…” Jon started not sure what to say.

“There now you have it, I am the careless, failure you always thought I was,” Aegon said, “And now the only hope for Dragonstone is if I marry well.”

“Thus, your cavorting with Miss Tyrell, I assume?” Jon snapped.

“God, you make it sound so crass,” Aegon recoiled, “I’ve not been improper toward her, and she knows very well that she is wealthy.”

“So, you play the fortune hunter, and she goes along because you are charming?”

“She’s no fool,” Aegon said haughtily, “She knows the prestige that comes with being Lady Targaryen, and she knows that taken properly in hand Dragonstone can become a lucrative estate again.”

Jon shook his head in disbelief, “So you are going to break Arianne’s heart, for a little more gold?”

“Well, unfortunately for me, a little more gold is what I need, not a woman’s heart,” Aegon said, and Jon, not for the first time, felt like hurling a fist at his brother, “Besides, does Arianne truly offer me her heart, or am I just a means to title?”

“You know damn well that she…” Jon retorted.

“Loves me?” Aegon suppled with a careless laugh, “You of all people should know how much love is worth.”

The ride back to the castle was quiet, with Jon seething and Aegon pretending to be blissfully unaware.

* * *

Throwing down his hat and coat, in his room, after bidding Aegon a begrudging goodnight, Jon sighed and hoped he had not held Sansa up from eating supper. This time of year often kept him busy, but he endeavored to be home by supper now that he was wed… an endeavor he had failed at both tonight and last night. After cleaning himself up and donning a clean pair of soft breeches to sleep in, he padded across the study to check on Sansa. Cracking the door open, he found her laying upon the bed in her nightgown with Ghost curled beside her. She had fallen asleep without a blanket and with candles burning. He smiled to himself. She was obviously expecting him. Ghost stirred from his spot beside Sansa as Jon started to put the candles out on the other side of the room. Ghost padded over to him for attention. Jon knelt on the ground in front of him and scratched him behind the ears.

“Davos is rather put out with you, old wolf,” Jon chuckled, “Seems you have sired some pups who are undeniably yours,” Jon chuckled as Ghost leaned into his hand, “You old rascal, go lie down.”

Ghost obeyed and Jon stood. As Jon approached his side of the bed… when he had come to think of it as his side, he was not sure… he made to put out the last candle, but stopped when he found a bowl of Sansa’s wild strawberries sitting there on his nightstand. Feeling emotion stir in him, he looked over at the lovely girl, whose fire kissed hair was spread out across her pillow. He smiled. How anyone could see the sadness and cruelty she had seen and still be so very kind astounded him. Popping one of the strawberries in his mouth, Jon sat down slowly on the bed and propped himself up against the headboard, so that he might finish his bowl of strawberries. He hoped he did not wake her from her peaceful slumber, but he was unsuccessful.

“Ghost?” Sansa murmured as she patted the bed blindly looking for the dog, only for her hand to come into contact with Jon’s hip. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Sorry, not Ghost,” Jon said, “Only me, I’m afraid.”

She smiled, sleepily at him, as he ate another strawberry, and reached out to stroke her hair.

“Thank you for the strawberries,” He said softly.

“Your welcome,” She smiled, “I could not let my husband be deprived, now could I?”

The flickering firelight from the low burning hearth and last remaining candle made Sansa’s hair shimmer. Chuckling, Jon bent and kissed the top of her head.

“How was your excursion to the village?” Jon asked and Sansa looked unaccountably sad.

“I ran into Sam when I visited Old Nan,” she said.

“Is she ill?”

“I…I don’t know,” Sansa replied, as she seemed to unconsciously lean closer to Jon’s hand in hair, “But she is only growing older and Sam said she is losing her sight.”

Jon’s heart sank, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She thought I was my mother at first.”

“She has mistaken me for your father before,” Jon confessed. He had not been blind to the state of Old Nan’s mind slipping from them.

“I wish there was more I could do for her,” Sansa said.

“Let her know she is cared for and that she is not alone,” Jon said, “From what I understand, she has outlived seven children and any remaining grandchildren are scattered.”

“She kept saying that there was nothing so important as children,” Sansa whispered.

Jon continued to stroke her hair as he listened.

“She said you’d be proud if I gave you a child.”

Jon felt his cheeks flush and he cleared his throat, “Aye, I would be,” He said honestly, hoping the truth did not frighten her.

“Jon…”

“Yes?”

“I want a child,” She said it so softly he almost did not hear her, “I want a family, and though my parents are gone, I want to give them grandchildren.”

“I want that too,” Jon affirmed. Sansa nodded, then shifted onto her back, and looked up at him expectantly. Surely, she did not expect him to mount her like a mare? Though between her past abuses and the general naivety of young noble women regarding the marriage bed, he had no idea what she expected. For all her fine words, she still looked frightened. Jon put his now half-empty bowl of strawberries on the bedside table, and stretched out beside her, continuing to stroke her hair.

“There is not any rush you know?” Jon said, pulling the blankets up around the two of them.

“I know,” She replied, her fingers anxiously toying with the hem of the blanket, “But I think having a child… It would be good for us… and it would be nice if our children were close in age to Sam and Gilly’s so that they might be friends and playmates?”

“Aye, I’d like that very much,” Jon confirmed, though he thought she still looked rather anxious. Jon moved his hand from her hair, to stroke her soft cheek and she gave him a shy smile. Jon wanted children… he always had, but there had been times in his life where he had doubted that he would ever have the chance. Stealing forward, Jon kissed her, slow and firm before wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her flush against him. The tentative touch of her tongue to his inflamed him, and he had to pull back to keep himself in check. 

“Do you want a strawberry?” He could not help but tease, as he reached over and retrieved a strawberry from his bowl. To his surprise, Sansa ate the strawberry straight from his fingers. They stared at each other, and Jon's wayward hand seemed to find it's own way back against her hair. 

“Sansa, leannan,” Jon noted that her cheeks took on a pretty shade of pink, “May I touch you?”

“You are touching me,” She chuckled breathlessly, her eyes studying his face. 

He smiled at her, and she looked at him, wide eyed and expectant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Sansa's thoughts on eating strawberries in bed (Sansa POV)
> 
> Sorry to leave you all hanging like that, but I wanted to switch to Sansa's POV for the next bit.


	21. Don't Be Afraid (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up immediately where the last one left off. I'm so sorry for how long it took me write this chapter. It was the most difficult one so far. I'm not very confident with how it turned out, as I wanted the right balance of tenderness and steaminess, alongside the awkwardness and uncertainty that still haunts our couple, while also making it believable for the period. I'm not sure that I succeeded but I hope its not too disappointing. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting! Everyone's lovely comments and enthusiasm for this story has kept me going as I've been stuck at home.

“May I touch you?” The question hung between them and Sansa found herself staring into his intense dark eyes.

“You are touching me,” She chuckled breathlessly.

Jon smiled at her, “Aye, I am, aren’t I?” He had that precious teasing glint in his eye that Sansa found rather beautiful. She had not had much opportunity to smile and laugh in so long, that she cherished when he made her smile… or when he smiled at her. Offering her another strawberry, Sansa ate it from his hand contemplating the scandalous nature of being pressed up against this man while eating strawberries in bed. He leaned his forehead against hers and brushed his nose against her nose. With a hand to the small of her back, Jon drew her closer. When she was close enough to feel the hard planes of his chest, and to tangle her feet with his, she felt herself grow unaccountably shy once more. Leaning her forehead against his chest, she breathed. In spite of all the men who had tried to force themselves upon her, she was a maiden still, and knew little about the ways of a husband and wife abed, as no one had taken the time to explain it all to her. Jon held her close, stroking his hand up and down her ribs, seeming to sense that she needed a moment to gather herself.

“I suppose you think I’m a foolish girl to ask you for a baby, when I know not what to do,” Sansa whispered with a self-deprecating chuckle, as she ran her fingers along the hem of the blanket, her forehead still pressed to his bare chest. He kissed the top of her head.

“We will learn together,” Jon said softly.

“Have you…” Sansa started to ask, but stopped herself, not sure she wanted to know the answer to that question.

“Aye, I have… once,” Jon confessed.

Sansa nodded, still unable to bring herself to look at him, “I’ve not… not known a man, only… only fear of them…”

Jon kissed the top of her head again, “Don’t be afraid, leannan.”

The same words from the night before echoed deep in her soul, and she nodded against his chest once more. Releasing the blanket, Sansa flattened her palm against his bare chest.

“I learned a new word today…” Sansa said.

“Did you?” He asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice, “And what word was that?”

“Leannan,” Sansa replied and glanced up at him for a moment before looking away.

His fingers stroked through her hair, “Do you mind it?”

Sansa shook her head, “I’ve not been called anything so dear in a very long time.”

Leaning down, Jon captured her mouth and kissed her, slow and sweet and tender, as his arm wrapped beneath her shoulder, to cradle her against him. She sighed against his mouth. His other hand slid across her belly, coming to rest right above her navel. Unable to keep herself from trembling, she felt herself being gently urged onto her back. His sweet mouth never left hers, as their tongues tentatively brushed together, learning each other. For a moment, he pulled back and smoothed some hair out of her face and smiled. She gave him a shy smile in return.

“May I touch you?” He asked again with profound gentleness in his voice.

Sansa nodded, and kept her eyes locked with his. Jon slid his hand up from her belly, softly brushing his fingertips against the fabric between her breasts, as he brought his hand to rest upon her collarbone for a moment. Sansa gnawed her lip, as his fingers began to undo the ribbon at the collar of her nightgown. Her heart was pounding. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then her cheek, and then her neck. Unsure what to do with her hands, Sansa began to stroke up and down his arm.

“I don’t know what to do…” Sansa confessed feeling her cheeks blush brightly.

Jon took her hand and kissed it before sinking it into his hair, and so she began to thread her fingers through his soft, dark curls. He kissed her again, and groaned against her mouth, “I can taste the strawberries on your tongue…”

She giggled, unsure what to make of that, “Can you?”

Jon nodded, and kissed her again. His kisses were so all consuming that Sansa lost herself in them and did not realize he had slipped a hand inside her nightgown until his warm palm cupped her breast. She stifled a moan, and she opened her eyes to look at him. He was looking at her with a small smile at the corner of his mouth, as he brushed his thumb across her nipple. When Jon bared her breast, pulling back the fabric of her night gown at the unlaced collar, Sansa gasped softly and looked up at the ceiling, knowing her cheeks were likely as red as strawberries. His hand came to her cheek to urge her eyes back to his. She looked at him, and he began to gently knead her breast.

“You’re perfect, leannan,” he whispered, before ducking his head and peppering kisses down her chest to the swell of breast before latching his mouth to her nipple. Sansa’s back arched off the bed and she cried out. Her fingers dug into his hair, at the foreign sensations she felt swirling in her belly and lower. Heat bloomed in her belly and between her legs, and Sansa keened as he continued his ministrations to her breast. Taking one of her hands, he threaded their fingers together and kissed her full on the mouth again.

“Don’t be afraid,” He said again, as his hand stroked her side like he might a startled a lamb. She nodded, feeling as though her voice had left her. She did not want to be frightened but still her body did not cease its trembling. Pushing away memories of cruelty and hard bruises, Sansa focused on the tenderness in his eyes and the gentle confidence in Jon’s hand. He was hovering above her now, their hands tangled together while his other hand gave her hip a squeeze. Beginning to ruck up her nightgown, Sansa froze and halted his motion.

“No?” He asked.

She shook her head, and so he silently acquiesced and pulled her nightgown no further than her hips. Kissing her full on the lips again, Jon took a breath and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Are you certain that this is what you want… tonight?” He asked his eyes closed and his face strained.

“Yes,” She whispered, bringing her hand up to stroke his cheek. She needed a son to secure her place at Winterfell, but more than that she wanted a child, to build a family like the one she had lost… if that were possible. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, his eyes were impossibly dark. He nipped her lips again.

“Thank you for the strawberries,” He whispered, gruffly against her mouth.

She giggled breathlessly, “You’re welcome…”

Jon’s hand reached down to the back of her knee, and she tensed, feeling him spreading her legs. He noticed, and slowed his movement, his lips returning to hers.

Sliding his hand up her thigh, he paused, “May I touch you down here?”

Trembling, Sansa nodded, “Yes.”

His hand then cupped her between her legs, and she gasped softly against his mouth. The air in the room seemed to grow thick and heady.

“Jon,” She murmured uncertainly against his mouth, as he started to stroke her through her nightgown… slowly, and intimately. Jon gently touched her hair, as he kissed her and stroked her, and Sansa nearly wept at his gentleness. She had never been touched there with such tenderness and care. Both her arms wound around his shoulders, holding onto him, as her body trembled with nervous anticipation.

“Does that feel good, Leannan?” He whispered gruffly in her ear.

“Yes,” she squeaked.

He drew his head back as much as he could with her clinging so tightly to him, and he smiled that painfully beautiful smile at her, making her blush, “I’m going to take off your undergarments…”

Though it was a statement, he said it like a question, and she knew he was asking for permission, and so she nodded her head again as they were about to embark into uncharted territory. Having resolved earlier, that she would not stop him, Sansa bit her lip and watched him. He unwound her arms from around his neck with an affectionate smile, and Sansa wondered what it was exactly he felt for her. She knew he did not love her, and yet his tenderness and his care in touching her made her wish… wish for impossible things. Sansa looked up at the ceiling not wishing for him to see how vulnerable she felt as he moved lower and came to kneel between her legs. Gnawing on her lip, Sansa felt his hands unlacing her undergarment.

He looked up at her and asked softly, “Do you always wear your pantalettes under your nightgown?”

Glancing down at him, Sansa blushed. _Was he teasing her?_

“Should I not?” She asked, unsure how to respond to his query.

He chuckled, “You can sleep however you want.”

In truth, prior to him joining her in bed, she usually wore nothing under her night gown but now that he slept there every night, the extra layer seemed like a necessary modesty. _Did he not want her to wear her pantalettes to bed?_ When he finished removing the undergarment, Sansa’s eyes went back to the ceiling, her cheeks flaming, as she knew she was now fully exposed to him. When his bare hand touched the bare and sensitive flesh between her legs, Sansa’s hips seemed to leap off the bed of their own accord. Chuckling softly, he anchored her back down and pressed a kissed against her still clothed belly.

“Easy, Leannan,” he said, and she could feel his hot breath through her nightgown. Knowing he was looking at her down there, made her turn shy once more and she nearly whimpered when he touched her there again, his fingers gentle and coaxing. Sansa turned her head into the pillow and closed her eyes, trying to breath. Feeling overwhelmed her… and she fought it… she did not want to feel, but he continued to stroke her and murmur sweet things to her as if he were determined to draw out some carefully guarded emotion from her.

“Please,” She whimpered. She feared she did not have any emotions to give him and she could not look at him for fear that he may truly break what remained of her tender heart.

“Sansa,” He said her name. She kept her face turned into the pillow, “Sansa, look at me…”

She shook her head. She remembered some days ago when they had laughed in the morning hours, and he had discovered she was ticklish, and he had somehow ended up on top of her. The way he had looked at her then had unnerved her, made her want to simultaneously hide away and hide in him, and she did not know how she could feel both. She felt the same now… only more. Suddenly his hands were gone, and she felt the rustle of the blankets, and the warmth of his body as he moved over her, to hover above her on his hands and knees. Jon touched her cheek and planted a kiss along the hairline at the nape of her neck.

“Sansa, please, look at me,” He pleaded, “I want to see your sweet eyes.”

The tremor in his voice made her shudder. _Was she breaking his heart too?_ Finally, she looked at him… and in his eyes, she saw worry, and tenderness, and… something else, that she could not name.

“We’ll not have pretending between us, not if we’re to do this,” He said, his voice rough and deep, as he kissed her forehead.

Sansa nodded her agreement. _Did he think there was someone else for her to think of? Was he promising not to think of his Ygritte?_ Sansa looked into his eyes and shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and somehow Sansa knew it would be his kindness that would be her undoing.

“A little,” She confessed softly, but she was not sure if it was cold or nerves that caused her shivers. He pulled the blankets up around them, until they were cocooned together, and he offered her a tender smile.

“Do you want this?” He asked again, but there was another question in his eyes that she could not quite discern.

“Yes,” She whispered anxiously, “I want a baby, Jon.”

He nodded, with an odd sadness in his eyes, he finally laid down atop her, and she released a soft whine as he wedged himself between her legs, though his breeches still covered him. Soothing her with tender kisses, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders to hold her closer to him.

“I think I could hold you forever, just like this,” He whispered.

Winding her own arms around his shoulders, Sansa pressed her face against his neck, not wishing to look him in the eyes when he said such things. _Did he really mean them?_

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” He asked.

She shook her head.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked, his voice almost strained.

She nodded.

“Warm?” _Was there a hint of teasing in that question?_

She smiled against his neck and nodded.

Turning serious once more, his hand that was not holding her close, moved downward reaching her knee, and drew her legs further apart. She felt her cheeks blush furiously, but she acquiesced to his prompting, and had to bite back a moan as he rocked himself into the cradle of her hips. Jon’s breaths were coming out heavier.

“I want to hear the sounds you make,” He whispered, and Sansa shivered. She was not entirely sure what kind of sounds she was supposed to make, but she nodded and let him lead. When he brought his hand between their bodies, to stroke once more, Sansa let a soft gasp slip between her lips. He kissed the top of her head, as she still had her face pressed to his neck. Her arms tightened around him, and her breathing grew to ragged pants, as she felt warmth pooling in her belly. She was not sure how to rule the feelings he was once more trying to draw out from her.

“Jon,” She panted out, uncertainly.

“Ready?” He asked, almost growled, against her hair.

She nodded, and then felt him fumbling with the laces of his breeches, before he was kicking them off. Sansa’s heart was racing. His frantic movements slowed once more as he took a steadying breath and stroked her hair, leaning his head back trying to look into her eyes. Sansa looked at him, and he looked at her, something silent… and perhaps unknown, passing between them. He kissed her deeply before nuzzling his nose against hers and taking his hand to line himself up with her. Sansa was shaking and he waited. She looked into his eyes and nodded in a final permission.

“Hold tight to me, Leannan,” He whispered in her ear. Sansa wrapped her arms and legs around him, and felt him nudging against her, before pushing. Sansa cried out softly, and he groaned, obviously trying to reign himself in. There was a sting of pain, and she pressed her face against his shoulder, and held tightly to him, trying to breathe. He paused, but she tightened her legs around him, afraid he would try to stop. His lips brushed against her temple, before he pushed all the way inside. He was so close, and so heartbreakingly gentle, that Sansa found herself overwhelmed with it all. She tried to sniff back a few tears not sure how to process the emotions swirling around inside her.

“Is there pain?” He grunted.

Sansa nodded.

He huffed and felt like he was about to withdraw from her, but Sansa kept holding onto him, and so he stayed still. She could feel his body trembling.

“You feel so good, Leannan, warm and soft… like silk,” He said, his voice rough and deep. Kissing her temple again, Sansa felt his hand stroke her hair. She whimpered at his words and his sweet touches, as the pain began to subside. She was truly his wife now, she thought distantly, they were still so strange to each other, and yet now he knew her as no one else did. She wondered how it was that she could have thought this could be anything but complicated, but she tried to shove those thoughts aside as he began to move, and she could feel him inside her, eliciting soft moans from her mouth. This was somehow painful and beautiful and messy all at the same time, and she felt terribly vulnerable as she lay there beneath him, his gentle movements jostling her, as he held her close and pressed kisses to her neck and the side of her face and against her hair. He murmured sweet words to her occasionally, sometimes in Gaelic, and sometimes not, and Sansa feared somehow that he was going to break her carefully guarded heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Aftermath (Jon)
> 
> * The physical aspects of Jon and Sansa's relationship will grow as their relationship grows and they continue to explore each other and their feelings. That to say, it will be a process before the physical side of their relationship gets really good for both of them. I hope you can be patient with me as the two grow together.


	22. Aftermath (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit. Here we get to see little bit into what is going on in Jon's head, it picks up basically where the last chapter left off. Not a lot of plot happens in this chapter, its mainly important relational moments. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments, you are really making being stuck at home more bearable!

Jon could not tell if the sounds Sansa made were of pleasure or pain, but he could feel her shaking beneath him. She had her face pressed against his neck, as if she could not quite bare to look at him, and to some extent he understood. They barely knew each after all, and yet here they were knowing each other in the most intimate way possible. He tried to be gentle, tried not to cause her pain, but it seemed he had failed. He was not completely innocent, he knew that woman’s first time could be painful, and despite his efforts, he knew he had hurt her. She was clutching at him so tightly, and she felt so good, that it did not take long for Jon to spill inside her, and once he did, he was careful not to fall directly atop her. As soon as he withdrew, she released a breath… and he imagined it was in relief that he was no longer inside her. Jon lay on his back beside her trying to catch his breath and watched in despair as she clapped her legs shut and curled up on her side facing away from him. Jon drew the blanket up around her so that she would not be cold and felt his heart plummet when he heard soft sniffles coming from her side of the bed. Slowly, half afraid that she might bolt if he touched her again, Jon drew closer to her. She seemed to stiffen as he drew closer but did not move. Brushing a few sweaty strands of hair off her neck, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. He did not know what to say and so for a while he said nothing, just massaged her shoulder and waited. When she let out a huff of breath, and the sniffling seemed to subside, Jon urged her back.

“Come here, Leannan,” He whispered, “Let me hold you.”

Slowly, she rolled over and gave him an endearingly, shy smile, though her eyes were still a bit red. Jon brought his arms around her and tucked her against his side. Sansa laid her head on his bare chest, and he stroked her hair and for awhile they lay there, in the light from the hearth, in silence.

“I’m sorry if I caused you pain,” Jon finally whispered unable to bare the strained silence any longer.

Sansa nodded.

“Does it… do you… do you still hurt?” He asked, feeling dreadfully uncomfortable but feeling a need to know.

“A little,” She whispered honestly, but so softly Jon barely heard.

“Can I do anything?” Jon asked.

She shook her head and tightened her arm around him, and softly said, “Let us stay like this for a while.”

“As long as you like, Leannan,” Jon placed a kiss against her hair, closing his eyes, he fell asleep with Sansa in his arms.

* * *

The bright morning sun spilled through the windows of their bedroom as Jon opened his eyes. Memories of the night before skipped through his mind, and he groaned and rolled to his side expecting to find Sansa there. Instead, he found the bed empty. Blinking a few times, Jon looked around the room. It was empty… both she and Ghost were gone, and he was curiously disappointed to wake without Sansa wrapped in his arms as she had spent most of the night. _How late was it?_ Jon looked out the window and surmised it could not be much passed dawn. Rising from the bed, Jon grimaced at the evidence of their loving on the sheets. He imagined Sansa did not appreciate waking to such a sight. _Where could she be so early?_ Jon strode through the door to the study to find it empty as well. _Had last night frightened her so badly that she wanted naught to do with him this morning?_ Jon heard his stomach growl. He was hungry, and he tried not to be disappointed by waking alone. Theirs was a marriage not of love, but of practicality, he had to put aside the part of him that wanted something more… He had been fortunate to know there could be more, and yet Sansa was adamant in her believe that there was not. She had married him for Winterfell and for protection, and he was content with that. _“For all of your frowns and grumbles, you have a tender heart,”_ his Aunt Dany had told him once in an effort to console him after Viserys had fired Ygritte and thrown her out of the house, _“It will be your undoing,”_ she had finished. Jon did not know whether Aunt Dany had been right or not, but he did not consider kindness to be a weakness. After readying himself for the day, he jogged down the stairs. Sansa was not at the breakfast table. There was some fruit and bread on the table that Cook must have put out, and so grabbing two pieces of fruit and two pieces of bread, Jon strode outdoors into the crisp morning air to find his missing wife. She was nowhere to be seen in the courtyard. _Surely, she had not left the estate so early in the morning?_ Greeting a few of his early morning workers, Jon headed toward the stables and nearly ran into Tormund who was coming out.

“Have you seen Lady Sansa?” Jon asked.

Tormund bellowed with laughter, “I suspect this early in the morning you’d be the last one to have seen her.”

Jon shook his head in mock exasperation and Tormund only laughed more, clapping Jon on the shoulder, “She’s in the barn, lad.”

“The barn?”

“Aye, the barn.”

Jon trotted off to the sound of Tormund japing about his eagerness. He approached the barn and entered to hear Sansa’s sweet voice singing.   
“They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain,” Jon paused and listened for a moment, “And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, they danced through the day and into the night and through the snows that swept through the halls…”

Jon drew a little closer to hear more of her song.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts, the ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most…”

Jon glanced around a corner and into a stall to find Sansa sitting in the hay with a lamb in her lap, singing as she fed the little creature from a bottle. For a moment, he remained silent and watched as she had not looked up to see him there. Ghost lay curled in the hay beside her, and Jon could not help but smile at the scene. She wore one of her everyday dresses, but her hair was loose, and still somewhat bed tousled. She looked young, like the girl that she was. When she abruptly stopped singing, Jon knew he had been caught out.

“Jon,” she said softly, a hint of pink creeping across her cheeks. Jon entered the stall and knelt in front of her and the lamb in her lap.

“Sansa,” he said.

She did not seem able to meet his eyes, “Did you sleep well?” she asked so casually, Jon could have laughed if he did not remember her tears last night.

“Quite,” Jon smiled, but still did not seem able to get her to look at him, “You?”

She was still looking down at the lamb, but a small smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, “Well enough.”

“Are you not going to look at me this morning?” Jon asked grinning, as he ducked his head trying to catch her eyes, but she kept avoiding his gaze. Her cheeks were red now.

“I’m afraid not,” She said evenly. _Was she teasing?_ Jon found himself rather baffled. He remained on his knees in front of her, and she continued to cuddle and feed the lamb.

“I brought you an orange,” Jon said, handing her the fruit.

Sansa still did not look at him, “Not strawberries?”

 _This was new_ , Jon thought with amusement, “Afraid not, my lady.”

“Pity,” She said softly but still took the orange from his hand. Jon sat cross-legged in front of her in silence, eating his own orange, until she finished feeding the lamb. When the lamb had had its fill, it teetered on unsteady legs around the stall while Sansa began to peel her orange.

“I missed you in bed this morning,” Jon asked, trying to make conversation.

“I woke early, and was not able to go back to sleep,” Sansa admitted, focused on her task, and still not looking at him.

“How came you to be feeding a lamb?”

“Podrick was going to feed him but I offered to do the job so that he could continue to the pastures,” Sansa explained.

“Yes, Podrick,” was all Jon could say, unsure why the mention of their shepherd rankled him so.

“Podrick said the little fellow was orphaned,” She continued taking a bite of her orange and looking now at the lamb, and still avoiding his gaze. They lapsed into an awkward silence for a few seconds.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Jon asked, raking a hand through his hair.

“Quite well, how are you?” She asked jovially, and if he did not know better, he would have thought all was well by the lightness in her tone.

Jon chuckled, “I’m fine.”

Reaching out, Sansa started to pet Ghost, still not looking at Jon, but he caught her hand, “Sansa…”

“Please…” She almost pleaded, her eyes sliding closed for a moment, obviously not wishing to be questioned. 

“Will you not look at me?” Jon pleaded himself.

She gnawed nervously on her lower lip.

“I know…I know last night… it was…” Jon started, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry…”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jon,” Sansa said.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” He tried to catch her eyes once more.

Sansa bit her lower lip once more, “It’s just… I’m…”

“Yes?”

“I’m… I’m…” She stammered and finally brought her eyes to meet his. Her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair, “I’m feeling a little…”

“Yes?” Jon prompted offering her a smile, and she looked away from him again.

“…Vulnerable,” the words were said so softly, Jon nearly did not hear them. _Was that good? Was that bad?_

Somewhat alarmed, Jon squeezed her hand, “I did not mean to make you feel…”

“No, I don't know that it is bad thing,” She assured, “It’s just different… _it_ was different than I expected.”

“Different?” Jon asked confused, and feeling a little embarrassed himself. 

“Yes,” She said, the hand he was not holding going to dust straw off her skirts, “It’s just… it was… messy…. And, and you… we were so close…”

Jon’s heart softened at her innocent stumbling words. Tugging her toward him by the hand he was holding, he drew Sansa to sit in front of him. His hands went to cup her cheeks, and he looked into her brilliant blue eyes.

“It’s supposed to be, you know?” Jon smiled, “Close…and messy…”

Just when he did not think Sansa’s cheeks could get any redder, they did. Leaning in, he kissed her tenderly on the mouth and she responded with a gentle press of her lips to his. He stroked his thumbs across her cheeks.

“Would you tell me if something else were bothering you?” He asked, wanting there to be honesty between… though there was nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that he still had much to tell her.

She nodded, but Jon was not sure he believed her. She, much like him, had grown accustom to not sharing their feelings… not sharing what they needed or wanted they wanted. While very different people, they were quite similar in those ways.

“Shall we take this lamb out to the shepherds together?” Jon asked, as he stood and offered her his hand to help her up.

“Yes,” Sansa took his hand and pulled herself up from the ground. Jon scooped up the lamb in one arm and offered Sansa’s his other. She took it and together they walked in a weighty silence to the field. Not for the first time did Jon wish he knew what was going on inside her mind. Somehow he knew there was more to her reticence this morning, but he was not sure if he should wait for her to bring her heart to him, or if he should seek it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Aegon's conquests (Jon POV probably)


	23. Aegon's Conquests (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally the plot points of this chapter were going to be glossed over in a conversation between Jon and Sansa, but I decided, as the age old writing rule says, to "show rather than tell," which allowed space for some more character development for Sansa, and so we will have Jon's POV next. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading and for your lovely comments! You help me feel not quite so alone during this isolation!

It was not the best day for a visit, Sansa thought, as one of their servants announced the arrival of Myranda Royce. Sansa and Jon had returned from the pastures in silence and retired to separate rooms to work. Sansa knew that they both were still trying to unravel their tangled feelings from their first coming together as man and wife. Even thoughts of last night made her blush. When she had been younger, barely a woman, she had thought the marriage bed full of mystery, a place for tender kisses and giggles, that somehow resulted in babies… that was before she had met Marillion and Harry, who both had bashed her innocent hopes of love and marriage against the cold, cruel rocks of reality. While both Marillion and Harry had wounded and taken advantage of her, it was Harry who cut her the deepest… she had trusted him and thought she could have loved him given time, but that had been before he spread his malicious rumors about her, and before that night at the ball. Sansa shuddered to recall his bruising hands, and the way he had forced himself between her legs, trying to get beneath her skirts. Last night with Jon had not been like her innocent girlhood dreams, but neither had it been like her fears… it had been an all together different experience. Jon had been heartbreakingly gentle with her. He was a strong man, she had felt it in the muscles of his arms and shoulders as she clung to him, and yet he forced nothing upon her, every touch and every kiss filled with kindness and compassion for her.

“Winterfell truly is a lovely estate, deary,” Randa said as she swept into the sitting room where Sansa was sewing and interrupted her thoughts.

Sansa stood to greet her, “Thank you, what brings you up today?”

“You are the only woman of my age and rank with any sense hereabouts,” Randa started with her usual flare for the dramatic, “If I have to sip tea with Wylla and Jeyne one more afternoon, I think I should drop dead straight away.”

Sansa tried to hide a bemused smirk, “Surely there are more women in the borough than Wylla, Jeyne and myself.”

“None of sense, which is where the true problem lies,” Randa said, “And now my friends of a different sort have lost their good sense as well.”

“And who might that be?” Sansa asked.

“Mya Stone,” Randa grumbled and plopped down, rather ungracefully, on Sansa’s settee.

Sansa sighed, “What has she done now?”

“She told me yesterday that her and her gentleman friend are planning to run away together.”

“What?” Sansa exclaimed, surely Mya was not foolish enough to do such a thing.

“She has all of these fanciful notions in her head about love, that she cannot see that she is about to have her heart broken or worse,” Randa said.

“I still don’t understand how it is she has been carrying on with someone and yet no one knows who it is!” Sansa was exasperated.

“I’ve come under the impression that it is not a gentleman who lives in town, or even near here,” Randa explained, “And the foolish and lonely girl is allowing herself to be swept off her feet.”

Sansa felt her heart sink, she knew what it was to let loneliness drive one to foolishness, further she had a nagging suspicion that she also knew who Mya’s gentleman was.

“I came up today, hoping that you might walk with me down to see her and try to talk her out of this nonsense,” Randa said.

Sansa, anxious for her newfound friend, agreed, “Yes…yes, of course, let me…” Sansa looked in the direction of the staircase, “I need to tell Jon I’m going out so he does not worry over me.”

“Yes, yes,” Randa waved dismissively, “I’ll wait.”

Slowly, Sansa ascended the stairs and paused in front of the study door. She was about to knock when she thought how foolish that would be since they shared the study and she knew he was inside alone. Sansa gnawed on her lower lip. It was not that she was avoiding her husband, after all they had had a pleasant walk, albeit quiet, walk through the fields this morning when they had returned the orphaned lamb to the shepherds, but still, she felt a heady sense of nerves, as she felt like she no longer knew quite what to say to him after…. Drawing a breath, Sansa opened the door and Jon looked up. He smiled that breathtaking smile of his heart, that made her heart beat just a little faster.

“Hello, wife, have you decided to join me after all?” He asked with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Had she been a little bolder she might have smacked him for his smugness, “I…” she started, and made herself look into his eyes, “I’m going out.”

The light in his eyes fell so swiftly, that Sansa nearly changed her mind if only to bring back that rare smile.

“Oh,” was all he said. He looked disappointed.

“It’s just that Randa is downstairs, and Mya is in some trouble, and we’re going to talk to her, and I just didn’t want you to worry, I’ll try to be back before supper, I promise,” Sansa started to ramble fearing she had made him angry.

Jon’s brow furrowed as he got up and came to her, his strong hands coming to cup her cheeks and bring her eyes to meet his, “Shh,” He hushed her and kissed her forehead, “Please go help your friends, and don’t fret about me.”

Sansa truly looked at him for the first time that day and covered his hand on her cheek with her own.

“Did you think I was angry with you?” He asked in concern.

“No,” She whispered, and he quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t know,” She amended.

Jon brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, “I’m not angry, I had only hoped for your company.”

Sansa offered him a smile.

“But I did not know Randa was here,” Jon explained, “What kind of trouble is Mya in?”

Sansa gnawed her lower lip, unsure what to say, “We… um, Jon when is Aegon leaving?”

“Do you wish him gone?” Jon chuckled, but then his tone grew serious and dark, “Has he done something? I’ll kick him out now if he has bothered you.”

Sansa smiled, “He’s not done anything to me, Jon.”

Jon looked at her.

“Mya has been seeing a gentleman, and apparently has been on occasion for awhile now,” Sansa started, not sure how much she was at liberty to divulge, “She’s planning to run away with him.”

Jon frowned, “And you think this gentleman may be Aegon?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa huffed, “Only Lyanna Mormont told me that she caught sight of Mya’s gentleman and said he was tall with flaxen hair, and Randa is convinced that this gentleman does not live hereabouts.”

“Aegon and I spoke only a few days ago of his intentions,” Jon sat down on his desk, “He’s been pursuing Margaery Tyrell.”

“And you believe him?” Sansa asked curiously.

“I do,” Jon sighed, “You see, Dragonstone, Aegon’s estate, our father’s estate, is bankrupt and he must wed a woman with money if he’s to save it, or rather to save himself from having to put in a real days work.”

Sansa nodded.

“I don’t think he’s brave enough to risk it on a penniless girl from our village,” Jon rubbed his beard, and still for all his words, he looked troubled.

Sansa nodded again, “I just… I just…”

Jon took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“I don’t want to see Mya be disappointed… or to have her heartbroken,” Sansa confessed, “We’ve become friends in the little time we’ve known each other…”

“Then you had better make haste, Leannan,” Jon chuckled, “I’m sure Randa Royce is already down there cursing at me for holding the two of you up.”

Sansa turned to go but Jon took her hand and pulled her to him. She blushed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her, before leaning his forehead against hers, “Please promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

“I’m not a rash person, Jon,” Sansa smiled shyly, looking down at his chest.

“Do not run off to confront a strange man over your friend’s honor,” Jon said firmly, “If a confrontation is needed, please come and get me.”

“I will,” Sansa promised.

“I’m fond of Mya, I would not see her hurt,” Jon said as he released Sansa from his arms.

Sansa nodded, and started to leave before an idea struck her. _Podrick_. When they had been to the fairy pool Sansa thought Mya and Podrick might be sweet on each other, if it were not for Mya’s inconvenient gentleman friend. Perhaps Podrick could intervene on Mya’s behalf, perhaps she would listen to him in a way she might not to Sansa and Randa? Sansa turned back to Jon.

“Would you be opposed to me and Randa seeking Podrick out?” She asked.

Jon looked at her strangely.

“Podrick has known Mya most of his life, and I thought perhaps he might be able to reason with her as well,” Sansa explained, “But I would not wish to take him away from his work and get him in trouble with you and Davos.”

“He’s as much your employee as mine,” Jon said, sitting back down at his desk.

Sansa nodded and made a dash for the door.

* * *

Randa and Sansa found Podrick out in the pastures and he seemed less than eager to go with them to find Mya.

“She do not want me traipsing all over the countryside after her, Lady Sansa,” Podrick said, “She’s made that clear enough.”

“But Podrick, she’s not thinking clearly,” Sansa said.

“She’s a woman grown,” Podrick huffed, “She is thinking well enough.”

“Don’t be an arse, just because of your wounded pride, Podrick Payne,” Randa said with her hands on her hips.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Royce, but I don’t see how this is any of your business,” Podrick then looked at Sansa, “Nor yours neither, Lady Sansa, I mean no disrespect, but I think Mya has made her choice.”

“And you don’t care if this fancy gentleman she’s been meeting in secret means her ill?” Sansa crossed her arms over her chest.

Podrick closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, “Well, of course I care, but she does not want me too,” Podrick picked up his shepherd’s staff and looked like he was about to walk away, “I’ve known Mya nearly my whole life, and you cannot talk that woman out of something she has set her mind too.”

“Well we are of a mind to try,” Randa huffed.

Podrick looked between the two of them.

“Please Podrick,” Sansa said softly, “She’s our friend, and your friend too, if we can talk her out of this foolishness…”

“Fine,” Podrick finally said, “I’ll go with ye, but I’ll not go inside her house unless she asks me.”

Sansa nodded in understanding, and the three of them set off toward the village.

* * *

As it turned out no one had need to go inside Mya’s house. Mya was not home, and Sansa had a horrible sinking feeling in her gut that something was terribly wrong.

“You don’t think she’s already…?” Sansa asked Randa, and Podrick looked terribly pained.

“I don’t know,” Randa said solemnly, “She did not tell me when she was thinking on running off.”

The three of them sat down on the steps to Mya’s tiny stone cottage. Sansa had to smile at the flowers planted in little wooden boxes in Mya’s windows, and the raggedy little curtains that hung against the panes. They spoke of a lonely soul, and they made Sansa sad.

“I need to go back to the fields, I have work to do,” Podrick said, his eyes heartbroken, even more so than Sansa imagined. Did Podrick imagine himself in love with Mya? Sansa wondered if the idea of love would ruin them all, as it had her. Sansa could only nod at him, and he bid them a good day.

Randa and Sansa sat there for a while longer, hoping that Mya might show up, but she never did.

“She’s not coming,” Randa sighed after well over an hour of waiting.

“Maybe if we stay a little longer?” Sansa suggested, feeling defeated.

“I don’t think it will matter, Sansa,” Randa stood from the steps, “We’ll be waiting through nightfall if not longer, and I don’t imagine your husband nor my father would be happy with us galivanting across the countryside after dark.”

“We have time yet before nightfall, it’s not even supper time,” Sansa argued.

“I’m worried we came too late,” Randa sighed, “What if she’s gone already?”

Sansa looked at the dirt. Perhaps she was gone already? Perhaps there was nothing they could do?

“I’m going to wait a little while longer,” Sansa said softly, “You go though, Randa, you have a much longer walk home than I do.”

Randa nodded, “Maybe she will come back.”

“Maybe,” Sansa said, though she felt very little hope, as she bid Randa farewell and watched as she retreated down the lane and disappeared.

* * *

Sansa waited another hour more for Mya to arrive but to no avail. With an aching bottom from sitting on the cold steps, Sansa finally rose and decided it was time to go home. She felt defeated and worried and anxious and angry. By the time Sansa was nearly to the castle, passing the Tarly’s home, the sun was beginning to set. She could see the castle in the distance with the sun sinking behind it. She sighed. Jon was there, and their bed was there, and she was going to have to face what they had initiated last night sooner or later. Jon had wanted to speak of it this morning, and she had not been able. Speaking of her feelings was no easy thing, she had spent more years learning to conceal them, to the point where some days she wondered if she felt anything at all. Had the world turned her so cold? Thinking of sweet, innocent Mya being swept away by a handsome stranger and only to be left penniless and alone, made Sansa wonder if she _wanted_ to feel anything at all, when all it led to was hurt and disappointment.

“Sansa!” Gilly’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Sansa looked up to see Gilly standing in the doorway of the Tarly home with the new baby in her arms, “Hello Gilly!” Sansa tried to smile for her friend and approached the house.

“What has you out so late in the evening?” Gilly asked.

“I had been in the village,” Sansa said, not wanting to divulge Mya’s secrets, especially when her circumstances were so uncertain. Sansa smiled at the tiny baby in Gilly’s arms, and reached out to let the infant wrap her little hand around her finger. Sansa felt something warm bloom in the region of her heart.

“She’s already so changed,” Sansa said in wonder.

Gilly beamed like the proud new mother that she was, “They grow fast at this age. You’ll see when your turn comes.”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush at Gilly’s words, “Yes,” She whispered. Imagining herself with Jon’s babe inside her inspired both hope and fear.

“You seem troubled,” Gilly said, “Would you like to come in and talk about it.”

“I probably should not, it’s getting dark and I don’t want Jon to worry,” Sansa said, looking back toward the castle but hesitating to leave.

Gilly’s perceptive eyes studied Sansa, and Sansa shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, “Is all well? I know it has not been very long, but are you and Jon getting on?”

Sansa looked at the baby once more, “Yes…”

Gilly smiled kindly at her, “But…?”

“I’m fond of Jon, truly, I was not sure that I would be…” Sansa confessed, “And… after everything… everything that has happened to me since I lost my family, sometimes I am afraid…” Sansa was not entirely sure what she was trying to say, or what exactly she was afraid of.

Gilly gave her a sympathetic smile, “My father was a rather cruel man.”

Sansa looked at Gilly.

Gilly waved off her concern, “And when Sam and I first met, I used to fear that my father had broken me too deeply to truly love Sam. I was afraid I would never be able to love him as much as he loved me.”

“Jon and I are not in love,” Sansa said flatly.

“Perhaps not,” Gilly said gently, “But that does not mean, you cannot be in love one day.”

“Is love even a true thing, Gilly?” Sansa asked in resignation, unable to look Gilly in the eye.

“Aye, it is,” Gilly chuckled, “Perhaps not like it is in the songs and the stories, but it is a true thing still, a little more messy and a little more painful, but…” Gilly looked down at her baby, “But it’s true, and it is worth every pain.”

Sansa only nodded not sure what to say.

Gilly gave her another kind smile, “Let yourself love Jon, and let Jon love you. Life will be better for it, I promise.”

* * *

Sansa climbed the stairs toward her bedroom, each step heavy with what faced her on the other side of those doors. She could see the candlelight flickering in the crack at the bottom of the door to the study. Jon was still working it seemed. _Did she go to him? Or did she go to bed and wait for him?_ Sansa went to her room and changed into her nightgown to bide her some time. When she was finished, she unbraided her hair and brushed it before taking herself to the door to the study. Taking a breath, she opened it and found Jon with his head on the desk, his candle burning low, and Ghost at his feet. Ghost rose to greet her, and Sansa smiled and petted him before approaching Jon.

“Jon?” She whispered.

He did not stir.

She reached out and started to stroke his hair, but as soon as she touched him, he jerked awake and grabbed her wrist. Startled, Sansa’s heart was pounding. For a moment, he did not seem to know where he was, but then his eyes focused on her, and then he released her wrist.

“Sansa,” He said in a whisper, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I did not mean to grab you…”

“I’m alright, Jon,” She said, taking a breath.

“I was dreaming,” Jon confessed, rubbing his eyes.

“Good dreams?” She asked, reaching out and tucking one of his stray curls behind his ear. He seemed to lean into her touch as if no one had ever touched him before, it made her sad.

“I’m afraid not,” Jon said with a sigh, as he stood from his chair. He offered her his hand, she took it and he gave it a squeeze. They looked at each other.

“You’ve not eaten,” Jon stated simply.

“I’ve no appetite,” Sansa said.

“How did you find Mya?”

“We did not find her at all,” Sansa looked down at the floor, “Jon, I’m afraid some ill has befallen her.”

“We shall hope and pray that she turns up tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Sansa said softly.

“I spoke with Aegon this evening, he arrived just in time for supper,” Jon said, “He is planning to escort Margaery Tyrell and her cousin home to England to meet her family. They leave the day after next.”

Sansa nodded, still not entirely convinced that Aegon was not involved in Mya’s misadventures somehow.

“I’m going to bed,” She said and looked at him.

He swallowed, “Do you… do you want me to come with you?”

The hesitance in his eyes made something hurt inside her, “Yes, Jon, I don’t think I should sleep as good without you there.”

He smiled, his usual enigmatic half smile, “Nor would I without you.”

Hand in hand, with Ghost trailing behind them, they entered Sansa’s room. Jon stoked the hearth to make sure it would keep the room warm through the night while Sansa crawled into bed. Jon rid himself of his shirt before joining her and blowing out the bedside candle. It was nearly completely dark in the room as they settled beneath the heavy blanket. They were quiet for a bit, before Sansa turned to face him, finding that he was already facing her. He reached out and touched her cheek. She could just barely make out his face in the dim light. She wanted to tell him why she had cried last night, and she wanted to tell him why she had run away to the barns this morning before he woke, but she could not bring the words to her mouth, for she was not sure she understood herself. So instead of speaking, with all the boldness she could muster, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held onto him. He was quick to follow suit, wrapping his own arms around her, and kissing the top of her head.

“Goodnight, Leannan,” he whispered.

Sansa placed a soft kiss against his bare chest, “Goodnight, husband.”

As Sansa started to drift to sleep to the feeling of Jon stroking her hair, she heard Ghost scramble to his feet.

“Ghost, lay down,” Jon whispered into the darkness.

Ghost began to pace.

“What is it?” Sansa asked.

“Ghost,” Jon said, “Its not like him to be restless.”

Sansa heard scuffling in the hallway or perhaps downstairs, “Sounds like there is someone moving about out there. Did Aegon say he was going out again?”

“No,” Jon said, and started to rise.

“Surely the servants are in bed,” Sansa sat up.

“Stay here,” Jon commanded her, “I’ll go see. Ghost stay with Sansa.”

Ghost perked his ears up and obeyed.

Sansa watched as Jon opened the door and closed it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Aegon's Conquests Continued (Jon POV)


	24. Aegon's Retreat (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was extraordinarily difficult to write as I was having some writer's block but here it is. I was not as pleased with it as some of my other chapters, but I hope its not too disappointing! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and for your lovely comments! You help me not feel so alone during all this!

Jon shut the door behind him and crept down the long dark hallway. He could make out voices in the stairwell… Aegon was definitely one of the voices. Jon listened trying to make out what was being said.

“You said you loved me!” said a definitively female voice.

Jon felt anger rising inside him, how dare Aegon be sneaking around with Margaery Tyrell under his roof?

“It’s not that I don’t love you,” Aegon said, in a less than pleading voice.

“I thought you said we were going to leave together!” said the female voice. Jon listened closer, suddenly becoming aware that the voice did not sound like Margaery, and yet was not wholly unfamiliar.

“Surely you see how that cannot be,” said Aegon.

Jon approached the staircase and to his horror saw Aegon and Mya Stone head to head in the landing.

“What is going on here?” Jon demanded as he approached the couple. Mya had tear streaks down her cheeks, and her face flushed with shame when she saw Jon.

“I’m sorry, Lord Snow, I’m sorry,” She rambled, “I’ll… I’ll leave…”

“Mya wait,” Jon commanded, though he and Aegon glared at each other, “I’ll fetch Tormund to take you home…” But when Jon looked her over and realized her state of undress, he determined that it would be better to keep her there until morning. He did not want to damage her reputation more than it already would be by sending her home from the castle in her bedclothes… He _and_ Sansa would take her home in the morning.

“I’m sorry, Lord Snow, I don’t want to be any bother,” Mya sniffled.

“You’re not a bother,” Jon said, leveling Aegon with a glare, “What I want to know from my brother, is what is going on here?”

“I do not answer to you, little brother,” Aegon retorted, haughtily.

“When you are under my roof, and with someone under my protection, you will answer to me!” Jon straightened his spine, trying to control his anger. He did not appreciate the fact that Aegon would carry on in his house, with one of his tenants. Mya stood there shivering, in little more than a night shift, and her hair was disheveled, leaving little uncertainty as to what she and Aegon had been up too.

“Mya is a grown woman,” Aegon hissed.

“I want you gone,” Jon said firmly.

“I leave day after tomorrow,” Aegon said, and a few more tears fell silently from Mya’s eyes.

“Tonight, I don’t care where you go, but there is a perfectly fine inn in town, which I believe you do frequent,” Jon said. A door opened and closed and Jon could hear Sansa and Ghost’s footsteps coming down the hall toward them. He saw her approaching out of the corner of his eye.

“Fine,” Aegon growled, “Come Mya…”

Jon grabbed Aegon by the arm, “Mya is staying…”

“Mya is not your daughter, or your sister, or your ward!” Aegon shouted, “And for that matter, she is not your chambermaid either!”

It took all the restraint within him and the knowledge that Sansa was watching him, to not throw a punch at his brother, “Sansa…” Jon said evenly, “Take Mya to a guest room and get her settled, we’ll take her home in the morning…”

Sansa hurried forward, stealing a glance at Jon, before gently taking Mya by the arm.

“I don’t want to be a bother…” Mya said, more softly this time.

“You’re no bother,” Jon said.

“Come,” Sansa urged her friend.

The two men glared at each other, as Sansa led a sniffling Mya back up the stairs with Ghost at their heels.

“Gone, tonight,” Jon reiterated.

“You are going to throw your own brother out in the middle of the night over a village girl?” Aegon chuckled.

“Yes,” Jon said flatly.

“Fine,” Aegon huffed, and stalked up the stairs. Jon followed. When they reached the guest room in which Aegon had been staying, Jon stalked in after him, slamming the door behind them.

“How long has this been going on?” Jon demanded to know, as Aegon began to gather his belongings.

Aegon chuckled ruefully and shook his head, “She’s a darling little thing…”

“How long?”

“Every time I’ve visited in the last two years,” Aegon confessed.

Jon raked a hand through his hair, “Good god, Aegon, what the hell were you thinking? She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she’s barely more than a lonely child!”

Aegon gave his nonchalant chuckle once again, rankling Jon, “She’s older than your wife.”

“That is not the point!” Jon growled, wanting to throttle his brother, who did not seem to care in the slightest that he may very well have ruined a young woman’s life.

“Then what is the point, so that I can leave? I do recall that you are throwing me out,” Aegon said haughtily, completely unphased by Jon’s anger.

“What were you thinking?” Jon demanded.

“I did not make the girl do anything she did not want to do,” Aegon defended himself.

“Good god, what if you had gotten her pregnant? What if you have?” Jon paced the room.

“We’ve been careful,” Aegon said simply, “And besides, what lord does not have a bastard or two?”

“Plenty,” Jon snarled.

“What is this really about Jon?” Aegon turned to face him, “I denied you your chambermaid, so you are going to deny me my village girl?”

“Do not bring Ygritte into this,” Jon hissed, resisting the urge to level Aegon then and there.

“She’s what this is about, though, isn’t it?” Aegon retorted.

“This is about you thinking only of yourself,” Jon said, “You give no thought to your actions and their consequences, and you drag everyone around you through the mud with you!”

“Well, isn’t that what you did in your little dalliance with Ygritte?” Aegon laughed spitefully, “Your clandestine meetings with Ygritte were hardly fitting for a son of Dragonstone, and the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Yes, and Ygritte paid for my indiscretions with her life!” Jon shouted.

“Well, your life has certainly been a Shakespearean tragedy,” Aegon said with a sarcastic smile.

“You made Mya love you,” Jon scolded, “Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Doesn’t that make you feel responsible at all?”

“Why should it? As I said before she’s a grown woman,” Aegon huffed, “I never told her I would take her away from here, she misunderstood me.”

“And yet you told her, you loved her?”

“As I told her, it’s not that I don’t have feelings for her,” Aegon said without remorse, “She’s a nice enough girl, but she and I are from different worlds we could never be anything more than what we have been.”

“Is that what you told Arianne too? And all the other women you leave in your wake?” Jon demanded to know.

“Arianne has nothing to do with this,” Aegon said, somewhat more softly, “Arianne has nothing to do with any of it.”

“Go home, Aegon,” Jon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Go back to Cornwall, and take Arianne as a wife, and then go home to Dragonstone, it fails from more then reckless gambling, to run an estate you have to be there.”

“I am escorting Margaery Tyrell home and intend to ask her father for her hand,” Aegon said, ignoring Jon’s prompting.

“Then I guess we have nothing further to say to each other,” Jon said.

“No, I suppose not.”

Once Aegon was packed, he threw open the guest room door, and Jon followed him out. Sansa was standing there, and her eyes found Jon’s. He wondered how much she had overheard of their conversation. Truly, he had nothing to hide, but he was acutely aware that he yet to tell her all the particulars of his past. Aegon took Sansa’s hand and kissed the back of it, making Sansa recoil from him. Aegon just shook his head and chuckled, before tipping his hat to Jon.

“Seems to take her cues from you, brother,” He smirked, and with that said Aegon made his retreat.

Jon turned to Sansa after hearing the front door open and close, “Mya?”

“She cried herself to sleep,” Sansa said simply.

“Aegon is a cad,” Jon stroked Sansa’s arm, “And I’m sorry your friend suffered for it.”

“Will you tell Margaery?” Sansa asked, as he laced their fingers together and led her toward their room.

“Margaery is no innocent, I have no doubt she knows what she is getting,” Jon explained, “And I imagine word of this will reach her ears regardless, rarely do scandalous stay behind closed doors.”

“I know,” Sansa said softly.

 _Apparently, they both did_ , Jon sighed to himself.

“Mya would not listen to anyone, not Old Nan, nor Randa, nor me,” Sansa said.

“Infatuation makes one blind,” replied Jon as he opened the door to their room and allowed Sansa to walk in before him.

“She claims to have loved him,” said Sansa, with a bitter sting to her voice that Jon sad.

“Sometimes people see what they want to see, especially when they are lonely and have nothing else,” Jon sighed deeply, “Come lets to bed.”

They resettled in Sansa’s big bed, with Ghost sleeping beside the hearth. For a while, they lay on their backs in silence, staring up at the ceiling. Finally, Jon reached for her hand and tugged her toward him. She came almost shyly and lay her head upon his chest. Since they had started sharing a bed, Jon had noticed that she did not seem overly fond of cuddling in bed, and he wondered if she shied away from the intimacy of it or if she simply preferred not to. She had wanted to be held after their loving last night, but she seemed hesitant as he drew her toward him tonight. He stroked her hair hoping to put her at ease… she had seemed to like that last night…after…

“You’re quiet,” He commented into the darkness.

“It’s bedtime,” was Sansa’s simple reply.

Jon had to grin, “Aye, it is,” Jon kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, “Goodnight, Leannan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Sansa and Jon take Mya home, Sansa spends sometime with Marya


	25. Genuine Hope (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I struggle to have a good balance of plot, and emotional character development, but I hope the story is not dragging too much and that you all enjoy this little update. Thanks for reading and for your lovely comments!

Sansa woke tucked against Jon’s side, with his large, warm hand still tangled in her hair. Laying still for a moment, she took a breath. Though she knew it was just her sentimental imagination, but in moments like these she could pretend that she was safe and that nothing could touch her. Jon thus far had been only kind to her… though Sansa remained wary… Harry had been kind to her at first. She had half expected Jon to want her again last night, men had appetites after all, but all he seemed interested in was holding her. She was not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Had their intimacies the night before been displeasing to him? She had nothing to judge the experience by, and so she did not know, further she knew she could not ask him… she thought she might die of embarrassment if she did. Keeping her cheek pressed to his chest, she inhaled his comforting, woodsy scent. She would never have imagined finding a man’s scent comforting, and she found it curious now. When his fingers began to massage her scalp, she knew he had woken. Sansa lay still and waited. He seemed in no hurry to disentangle himself from her. She felt him move his head as if trying to see if she were awake. Quickly, she closed her eyes. His chest rumbled in the softest of chuckles.

“I know you’re awake,” He suddenly said in his husky morning voice, “Your eyes were open not five seconds ago.”

The hand he had in hair, began to rub her back.

Sansa sighed at his kind touches, still not entirely sure what to make of them. She tilted her head back for a moment and looked at him and he gave her a kind, bemused smile before she lay her head back against his chest.

“I should go check on Mya,” Sansa said, but did not move.

“Aye,” Jon agreed but did not immediately move either, “We’ll get her fed, and take her home together.”

Sansa nodded, “Do you think Aegon will bother her?”

“No, I think trying to break it off with her, is what caused the ruckus last night,” Jon said, “Though I hope for her heart’s sake, that she does not seek him out.”

Sansa nodded again. She wanted to ask him about what she had heard last night outside the guest room door but could not bring the words to her mouth. Did it truly matter when the person in question was dead? Marya’s words about being his consolation drifted back through her mind, and though she still did not fully understand what Marya meant, she did know that she did not want to make Jon sad. Before she could second guess herself, she pressed a soft, quick kiss above his heart. He stilled for a moment, before continuing to rub her back.

“We ought to get up,” He said, gruffly.

“Yes,” Sansa agreed and shifted away from him, pretending not to notice his morning body as he pulled himself out from beneath the blankets… it was not the first time she had noticed him wake in such a state. She tried not to blush, and simply rose herself. Their intimacies had been beneath blankets in the dim light of the hearth, and so she had not seen much, if any part of him, lower than his stomach, beneath the breeches he wore to bed. She pretended not to be watching as he pulled his discarded shirt over his head. She would not admit to being curious, however, ladies did not think on such things… did they? Sansa pulled her robe around her, just as Jon approached her and kissed her cheek.

“I’m going to ready myself for the day, I’ll see you at breakfast,” He said and whistled to Ghost.

Sansa smiled softly and nodded again, before watching him retreat to his chamber.

* * *

Mya was dressed in her simple linen frock, and sat at the foot of the guest bed she had slept in. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying and she looked more a hostage than a guest, but she smiled at Sansa when Sansa quietly opened the door after knocking and being beckoned in.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Sansa asked.

Mya shrugged, “I’ll mend, I suppose,” was her brave reply, though Sansa could see a deep grief in her eyes. She sat down beside her friend on the bed.

“I’m sorry I brought shame upon ya, and upon your house,” Mya said.

Sansa stroked her arm, “There’s no shame. If there is any shame it is Aegon’s.”

Mya nodded, “Tis not his alone... but mine as well…”

“No…”

“Is Lord Snow ashamed of me?”

“No,” Sansa assured, “He is concerned for you, and I think rather ashamed of his brother.”

“Twasn’t right,” Mya said softly, “I knew that all along…”

“Sometimes we see what we want to see,” Sansa said, repeating Jon’s words… words that had made her own heart question.

“I only… I wanted…” Mya stammered, “I wanted to be more than what I was… and God help me, I was lonely… and when such a handsome and well to do lord took notice of me… I… I.”

“You let yourself be swept off your feet?” Sansa provided.

Mya wiped at her eyes, “Aye… and… and I loved him truly… I gave him every part of me, my heart, my body, my desires…” Mya sniffled, “But I was too foolish to see that he gave me nothing in return.”

“Sometimes people lie with their actions as much as with their words,” Sansa said, it was a hard truth that had taken her more than one heartache to learn.

Mya nodded.

“Come let’s eat breakfast, and then Jon and I will take you home.”

“Home to my chickens, my flowers, and my empty home…” Mya said.

“Aye,” Sansa replied, for it was the reality.

“I do not know if I can face Lord Snow,” Mya confessed.

“He’ll not judge you, Mya, he told me to fetch you for breakfast,” Sansa said kindly.

Mya did not look like she believed her, but she nodded any way.

* * *

At breakfast, Jon asked Mya about her chickens and about her cottage and made no mention of the escapades of the night before, and Sansa was grateful that he was so kind and mindful. When they took her home, Mya had even managed a few smiles, though Sansa knew she had a long way to go before her heart was truly healed. Some of the townsfolk they passed in route gave stares that showed that they suspected, if not already knew, of Mya and Aegon’s indiscretions. Lord Snow sending his brother from the house in the middle of the night due to a village girl was certainly a point of gossip and word traveled fast in this place.

“I need to speak with Davos, do you mind if we stop by their house, before going home?” Jon asked breaking the silence as their buggy bounced up the dirt road away from the village.

“I don’t mind,” said Sansa, “I’d like to see Marya.”

Jon smiled and clicked his tongue to drive the horses forward.

Arriving at the Seaworth home, Jon helped Sansa from the buggy and took her hand as they walked toward the house. Sansa wondered if he liked holding her hand, he seemed to do it so often. Was it simply the done thing for a husband? Marya greeted them boisterously at the door, with a basket in her arms as if she were heading outside as they were heading in.

“Good morning!” Marya said, “I expect Jon has some business with Davos to be here so early.”

Jon grinned, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then Sansa and I won’t keep you,” Marya chuckled, and beckoned for Sansa to follow her, “Come.”

Jon went inside the house to find Davos and Sansa followed Marya.

“What are you about this morning? I’m sorry we’ve interrupted you,” Sansa asked.

“You’ve interrupted nothing, child, you and Jon are always welcome here,” Marya said with a kind smile, “I’m just going out to collect eggs from my hens.”

Sansa had never collected eggs before and so she offered to help. They opened the barn door, and Sansa’s attention was drawn away from egg hunting by the sound of little yips and barks coming from one of the stalls. She peeked around to see a litter of pups tumbling around each other and their mother, two of which looked so distinctly like Ghost, Sansa could not help but smile.

“Oh, they’re darlings,” Sansa exclaimed as she dropped to the ground in front of the little bed of hay where the puppies played.

Marya grinned, “Aye, and soon they’ll be a menace once they’re weaned, but they’re beautiful pups and I’ve no doubt we’ll find a good home for them all.”

One of the puppies that looked like Ghost, save a bit of grey mixed into its white fur, frolicked and tumbled over to Sansa and crawled into her lap.

“Hello,” Sansa giggled and snuggled the pup close, “You are precious.”

The pup licked her nose, making her laugh. Marya grinned and shook her head before continuing deeper into the barn.

“I’ll be back, little one,” Sansa petted the pup and put it back with his siblings, “I’m going to help Marya, and then I will hold you.”

The little pup barked at her and shook her head. Sansa grinned before scrambling up from the hay and scurrying after Marya. The older lady was already starting to collect eggs and so Sansa followed along beside her. Occasionally, she would reach into one of the nests to grab at an egg and tried to hide her fear that one of the hens would peck a hole in her hand. Marya seemed to find her skittishness amusing but made no comment.

“I reckon Jon and Davos are discussing the Bolton’s plans to enclose their land,” Marya said.

“The Bolton’s are enclosing their land? How will that affect their tenants?” Sansa asked, remembering Jon’s words about some of the Highland clearances even further North than they and how common folk were forced from their ancestral homes and moved to the cities looking for work.

“I imagine that the tenants will be evicted,” Marya said sadly.

“How can they do such a thing?”

“Boltons are not known for their generosity, sure they are generous enough when it suits them, but the land is theirs to do with as they please,” Marya explained, “The Glover’s are trying to enclose their land as well, that’s why they are trying to convince Jon to sell that small strip of land and cottages he owns that borders theirs.”

“Jon won’t sell,” Sansa said proudly.

Marya smiled, “Aye, I know he won’t. He cares about the fates of his village folk; he’d not see them sent to kelping or quarries if they do not wish it.”

Jon protected people just as her father had.

“Speaking of your village folk, I heard from my kitchen maid that there was some excitement up at the castle last night with one of the girls from the village,” Marya said.

“Word travels fast here,” Sansa sighed.

“Yes, I’m afraid it does, but it does not help that my kitchen maid, Sara, is related to your Cook,” Marya explained.

Sansa nodded, “Jon had to ask Aegon to leave last night, he had been carrying on with one of the girls from our village,” Sansa did not want to drag poor Mya into any more disgrace than she was already facing by naming her to anyone, not even to Marya.

“Oh my,” Marya sighed sadly.

“The affair had been ongoing for quite some time,” Sansa continued, “Aegon though was breaking it off with her last night, because he intends to wed Lady Margaery Tyrell for her money,” Sansa could not hide the bitterness in her voice, “This is apparently not the first time he’s left a wake of disappointed hopes behind him.”

Marya considered her for a moment, “And you think these women would be better off if they did not hope at all?”

“All they hope for is a daydream,” Sansa said.

“Perhaps a daydream with Aegon,” Marya said, “Surely, after spending so much time with Jon there has been some kindling of genuine hope in you?”

“Jon is kind to me,” Sansa looked at the chickens, “And I hope I am some consolation to him, but…”

“You say consolation like its some bitter thing…” Marya touched Sansa’s arm, “Do you know what consolation means?”

Sansa looked at the ground.

“It means to be a comfort, a solace,” Marya smiled gently, “Perhaps not unlike a shelter or a home in a storm. To be someone’s comfort, is naught but a few steps away from love.”

Sansa looked at the ground once again, unable to bare the honesty in Marya’s eyes.

“Have you found no comfort in him?” Marya asked.

Sansa blushed.

Marya smiled knowingly, “I see that perhaps you have.”

“It frightens me,” Sansa confessed, the bold words tumbling from her mouth in a hurried whisper.

“He frightens you?” Marya asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

“No, no he doesn’t,” Sansa huffed, unsure how to express what she felt or even if she wanted too, “It’s just that…that… I don’t know how to trust that…”

“To trust that he won’t hurt you, as others have?”

Sansa nodded.

Marya reached out and touched Sansa’s cheek, like her mother used to do, “I cannot promise that you will never hurt again, but good men seek to mend, not break… and Jon is a good man.”

After finishing collecting the eggs, the two women walked quietly back toward the puppies, and Sansa once again sank down into the hay to pet and play with them. Marya sat down in the hay beside her.

“Have you seen Gilly lately?” Marya asked.

“We ran into each other on the road in front of her house yesterday evening,” Sansa said, “I was going home, and she was in the yard with her babe.”

Marya did not seem to miss the hint of longing in Sansa’s voice.

“Have you and Jon spoken any more of children?” Marya asked, and the straightforwardness of the question made Sansa blush. Sansa remembered one night at the Baratheons, after Mr. and Mrs. Baratheon, both drunk, had had quite a vocal row. Mr. Baratheon had stormed out of the house, and Mrs. Baratheon had said, _“love none but your children, for on that count you will have no choice.”_ The words occasionally haunted Sansa, and she did not like that Mrs. Baratheon’s voice lived on in her head.

“Yes,” Sansa said softly, picking up the little white and grey pup and holding it close… she and Jon had done more than speak of children.

Marya smiled at her as only a mother of seven children could, “Perhaps Jon has comforted you in more ways than one?”

Sansa gasped, and felt like her cheeks were afire, “Its hardly proper to speak on such things,” she said beginning to fidget.

Marya only laughed, “When you have had as many children as I, such things seem rather common.”

Sansa could not bring herself to look into Marya’s eyes.

“Tis but another way of expressing love,” Marya put a finger to Sansa’s chin to bring her eyes up, “There is no shame in it, my dear.”

Sansa only smiled sheepishly and nodded.

“I know I’m not your mother,” Marya said softly, “But should you need to ask me a question on intimate matters…”

“We’ve only…” Sansa stammered, “It was just the once.”

Marya grinned, “Though I imagine it will be more than the once if you are wishing for children.”

Sansa found herself blushing again.

“It will improve with time and practice,” Marya laughed, as if she could read Sansa’s mind.

“It’s not that… it’s not that it was bad…” Sansa said, “It was just… different than I expected…”

“And what did you expect?” Marya asked, her eyes still twinkling.

“I don’t know,” Sansa said with a sudden embarrassed giggle, “…I just… there was pain… and it was… it was messy… and… I did not know what to do with my hands… or where to look…”

Marya’s face was red with a sweet sort of motherly laughter, that soothed some of Sansa’s embarrassment, making her chuckle as well, even as her heart still felt raw.

“I can’t imagine he enjoyed it very much,” Sansa said.

Marya gave her an impertinent smile, “Have you asked him?”

“No,” Sansa said softly.

“Well, how will you know?” Marya asked.

Sansa grew serious once more, “In some ways it was frightening, for I felt I was being known in the most intimate way possible, and yet I still know him so little.”

Marya’s kind smile softened, “You should tell him these things.”

“I couldn’t…”

“Then how will you both ever truly know each other?”

Sansa and Marya looked at each other for a few seconds, but before Sansa could respond, the barn door opened, and Jon strode through.

“I hope you ladies have had time to chat,” Jon said pleasantly, as he came and knelt beside Sansa in the hay and reached out to pet the pup in her lap.

“I think you ought to take that one home with you,” Marya looked between the two of them.

“I think Ghost may be a handful enough for us both,” Jon laughed, but continued to pet the pup who was trying to gnaw on his hand. Sansa looked at up Jon’s handsome face, and he smiled at her.


	26. Something More (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter! I hope everyone enjoys! I have the next one half written as well, so hopefully it will not take too long to get it posted! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments! I seriously read them two or three or four times over, because they help me stay motivated!

Jon woke from disturbing dreams of war and death and looked at Sansa’s sleeping form beside him and sighed. Her back was too him and she had not seemed agreeable to being held last night, and so he did not push. More than anything, he had wanted to ask her if she would have him again. It had been nearly a week now since that first time, and though Jon tried to curb his desires, so as not to overwhelm her, he could not deny that he did want her again. Part of him had hoped she would bring it up again, but she had not. Jon had grown concerned that he had hurt her in some that she was not willing to admit. Slowly, Jon drew a little closer and slipped an arm around her waist, being careful not to wake her. Years of loneliness, abuse, and only expecting the worst of people, had taken a toll on his wife’s precious heart and he understood… he truly did… but he hoped that she had begun to feel some measure of safety here with him, and he did not want to spoil it by pushing Sansa for more than she was willing to give. Drawing her close, he inhaled her scent, and was careful not to push against her, though he knew she could likely feel his desire for her pressing against her bottom. He wondered if she would be amenable to making love in the morning light. The thought only stirred him more. During that first night, he had not been able to see her well, the only light having come from the dwindling hearth. He wished he could have been able to see more of her. Feeling her stir in front of him and then stiffen, Jon made sure he was not holding her too tightly, as he did not wish to alarm her.

“Jon…” She whispered.

Jon kissed the back of her neck, “I’m here.”

She nodded and relaxed once more. He smiled against her hair when she covered his hand on her belly with her own. Taking a chance, he kissed her neck once more, and then nuzzled his nose against the soft hair behind her ear.

“Did you have good dreams?” She asked, hesitantly still facing away from him.

It was Jon’s turn to stiffen, did she know that sometimes he slept poorly, that his dreams haunted him?

“No,” He confessed softly.

“You were thrashing in your sleep,” Sansa said.

Jon frowned, “I’m sorry… I hope I did not keep you up.”

She traced her fingers along his knuckles, “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I did not hurt you, did I?” Jon had to ask.

“No…” She paused, “But…I… I did not know how to make it better…”

The sweet, innocence of her statement, nearly undid him, “You don’t need to fret, I’m just dreaming.”

“I’m no stranger to nightmares…” Sansa confessed.

“We’re certainly a pair, aren’t we?” Jon asked, with a sad smile.

“Aye, we are,” Sansa agreed, as she turned onto her back and met his eyes. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek, and stroked her thumb across his beard, “You should be allowed peace when you sleep.”

He mustered another sad smile, “Men always do terrible things in war, things that change them… things that haunt them…”

“The war haunts your dreams?” Sansa asked curiously.

Jon leaned his head down and kissed her cheek, his thumb rubbing circles against her belly. He preferred touching her and kissing her to having his war memories scrutinized.

“Its not an easy thing to forget,” Jon said honestly.

“Bayonets in the dark?” Sansa probed, reiterating his words to her from the first time she had seen his scars.

“Aye, that and other things,” Jon replied.

Sansa looked at him, “You killed people?”

Sometimes she could be so blunt, and it always took him off guard, “Aye.”

Sansa nodded. Leaning her head up, she surprised him by capturing his lips in a tentative kiss of her own. Jon slid his hand into her hair and deepened the kiss.

When they finally broke for breath, her big blue eyes studied him, “If you need to speak of it, I will listen.”

“They’re not happy tales,” Jon said.

“I… I…” She stammered, shyly, “I wish to be a comfort to you.”

Jon grinned, “And I too you.”

She gave him a sweet smile. Jon dropped his hand from her cheek and brought it to rest on her collar bone above her breast before he kissed her again.

“May I touch you?” Jon asked, and she grinned shyly and nodded, seeming to know what he meant. Cupping her breast through her nightgown, Jon gave it a gentle squeeze and she released a soft huff of air.

“You’re so soft and pretty,” Jon said making her blush. He leaned down and kissed her again… this one headier and more passionate than the others. The tentative hold she had on his arm, however, caused him to slow down, “Can I…. can we…?” He stammered trying to compose himself enough to get the words out.

“No,” She said firmly, and the alarm in her eyes, made him sad

Jon drew back from her, “I’m sorry…”

“No, I… I… mean,” She tried to stutter out, “It’s broad daylight!”

Jon smiled, “It can be done in broad daylight.”

She turned red all the way down to the collar of her night gown, “And we’re expected at church…”

Sighing, Jon nodded, as lord and lady of the parish, they were certainly expected at church. He sat up and looked down at her.

“Maybe…um,… maybe…” She did not seem to be able to get the words out.

“Maybe?” Jon encouraged and laced their fingers together.

“Maybe tonight?” She whispered so softly that Jon nearly did not hear… nearly. His heart may have skipped.

Jon looked at her and smiled softly, “Aye, tonight.”

* * *

After being teasingly scolded by Sansa for having set an unofficial appointment with his banker on the Sabbath, Jon left Sansa with little Lyanna Mormont after church and made his way to town. Varys was already waiting for him at the shuttered bank. Typically, they conducted their business in regular working hours, but Varys was making a trip to Edinburgh and Jon needed to speak with him before he left.

“Brandy?”

Jon was about to decline when Varys suddenly chuckled at himself, and opened a different bottle, “Of course, you are a whiskey man.”

Jon smiled congenially and accepted the proffered glass.

“The Bolton’s have it out for you,” Varys said as they sat together on at the large desk. Jon sighed; this was not new information. The Bolton’s had not been pleased with Jon since he inherited Winterfell. He had the feeling that they had hoped to buy the place, or to marry Ramsey to Sansa under the impression that she would inherit the estate when she came of age. They had not been pleased in the slightest that Jon had taken over Winterfell and liked it even less that he took such an active role in its management.

“Tell me something I don’t know Varys,” Jon sighed, and took a sip from his glass.

“The Bolton’s will enclose their land by the end of the month as you well know,” Varys said, pushing what looked like a map of the county toward him, “They will evict their tenants, leaving a few dozen families homeless and in need of work.”

Jon raked a hand through his hair, “Work is what I’ve come to talk to you about, Varys.”

“I know about your linen spinning scheme and you do not have the means to employ half the county on your own, you need investors,” Varys said straightforwardly, the majority of the landed gentry here, will have nothing to do with such schemes.”

“Why ever not?” Jon exclaimed impatiently, “It would be to their benefit, wool from sheep farms would turn a greater profit if we owned the means of converting the wool to cloth!”

“These burly old gentleman know nothing but farming and land,” Varys explained, “And besides Jon Snow, even if you could produce enough capital to begin spinning cloth here in Wintertown and provide jobs for all of our local tenant farmers about to lose their land, how will you house them?”

Jon did not reply.

“Have you expanded your tenant farms and built more cottages that your banker is not aware of?” Varys chuckled ruefully, “You cannot save everyone, Jon Snow.”

“So, you are saying, I should give up the whole venture?”

“That is entirely your prerogative,” Varys said in his usual noncommittal way, “I’m just asking as your banker, that you be realistic with the way the world works.”

“Do you know of anyone that might be interested in such a venture?”

Varys sighed, “The Bolton’s have done you no favors, and the Glovers are certainly not on your side, with Ramsey Bolton courting Vayon Poole’s daughter, you will likely loose support in that corner as well.”

“What about the Manderly’s?” Jon asked.

Varys laughed, “You know old Manderly, cautious as the day is long.”

“So, the people continue to be pushed out into failing industries like kelping on the coasts and removed from their ancestral lands and homes, like it’s the bloody dark ages?” Jon stood and paced the room, “Before we know it all the Highlands will be cleared and clans will be scattered all over Scotland, then we may as well have let the bloody English take the land!”

“Careful Snow, people may think you a Jacobin,” Varys chuckled his irritating chuckle, “And besides did you not marry a little English wife?”

“You know very well that Sansa is Scottish, for god’s sake she is the last remaining Stark, Winterfell is more hers than mine!” Jon nearly shouted.

“Not according to the law,” Varys said, “And what could a girl raised in England since childhood recall of Scotland?”

“She’s a Stark,” Jon stated.

“But not Stark enough to rally support for your cause,” Varys pointed out, “Ned Stark was well loved here, and his loss keenly felt, and these old faces, like the Boltons and the Manderlys and the Glovers, and all the others do not take easily to outsiders, especially when they are seen to be working against their interests.”

Jon could only nod and rake a hand through his hair. He slumped back down in the chair, with little left to say.

* * *

Jon slammed the door to the bank and strode down the street in haze of frustration. What did he know about spinning cloth anyway? Would that provide any better life for the common folk of this town than kelping or the quarries? He had no answers, and as he had no investors, he truly had no options.

“Jon Snow!”

Jon looked up and saw Jeyne Poole waving him over from across the street. She was on the arm of Ramsey Bolton himself. Jon scowled. He had spoken to Vayon Poole about Ramsey, and all the old man said was that Ramsey had been acquitted at his trial, and that Jeyne was a stubborn girl.

“I thought you should know that I saw your wife cavorting down the lane with three of your village folk, her dress was soaked clean through with mud and her hair was loose and dripping wet,” Jeyne exclaimed, obviously thoroughly scandalized. Ramsey considered Jon coolly.

“Tis hardly a proper thing for a lady of her standing, being your wife she should set a better example,” Jeyne sniffed in disapproval, “I know she has not had the most proper of upbringings, but you really should speak with her so that she does not become a point of gossip.”

“It seems I’m already too late on that count,” Jon said with a sarcastic smile.

Jeyne clapped her mouth shut for a moment, fully comprehending the accusation in Jon’s words, just as he had intended her too.

“Come now, my dear, they all appeared as if they were having a jolly good time,” said Ramsey, in that tone that always sounding mocking to Jon’s ears.

“Well, I’m only trying to help, considering the poor girl’s past,” Jeyne huffed.

Jon glared at her, “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“My father does quite a bit of business with Petyr Baelish, and he informed of us of the cruel fate of Lady Snow at the hands of her Baratheon benefactors,” Ramsey explained for Jeyne, “It was, of course, most benevolent of you, but then you always have been known as one who caters to the unfortunate.”

“I had no idea she was so destitute, poor dear,” Jeyne said, “And to save her from soiling her good family name with that wretched musician… you truly are a most respectable benefactor, Jon Snow. She is most lucky to have you to watch over her now.”

Jon scowled at the girl, “I don’t know where you are receiving such slanderous gossip, Miss Poole, but it is wholly untrue.”

Ramsey chortled, “Are you calling Baelish a liar?”

“If he is the source, then yes, I believe I am,” said Jon, squaring his shoulders to size Ramsey up.

“Is it not true, then that you transferred a substantial sum to Baelish to pay off her debts to him and his family?”

“My wife and my affairs are none of your concern, Bolton,” Jon snarled, “And I’d remind you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth when speaking of my wife, if you must speak of her at all.”

Ramsey laughed, “Is that a threat Lord Snow?”

“It will be far more than a threat if you ever come near my wife or speak of her again,” Jon glared at the other man.

Ramsey only sneered, “Your love for broken and destitute women with sullied reputations does you no credit, Jon Snow.”

Even Jeyne’s eyes went wide with shock at Ramsey’s words. Having heard enough, Jon grabbed Ramsey by the collar, uncaring who saw and was about to lay an overdue blow on the bastard when Jon heard footsteps behind him.

“Jon,” it was Davos’ calm and collected voice.

Jon released Ramsey with a ferocious shove, nearly hurtling him to the ground. They continued to glare at each other until Jeyne began pulling on Ramsey’s arm, and they turned and walked away.

* * *

“Provoking the Bolton’s will do you and Sansa no favors,” Davos said, as he and Jon stalked around the battlements of Winterfell. Jon came up here when he wanted to think and occasionally Davos followed quietly behind him.

“The Bolton’s are after something, and I don’t know what,” Jon said, “But I’ll kill him before I hear him speak of Sansa in that way again.”   
“And then go to jail for dueling, and leave Sansa alone and unprotected in the world once again?” Davos said, logically.

“Where does Baelish get off spreading lies and gossip around like that?” Jon growled.

“He deals in lies and gossip, as much as he deals in ships and shipping,” Davos said calmly, “You’ve taken Sansa away from him, and given her back her home, made her safe. Let them talk, anyone who meets Sansa knows the gossip isn’t true.”

Jon nodded and continued his stalking. Sam called it brooding. Davos merely watched. Jon looked down into the courtyard when he heard a merry laugh… Sansa’s laugh. She was entering the courtyard with Podrick tagging along beside her. She was beaming with smiles and laughed more boisterously than he had ever heard her. She was indeed a sight. As Jeyne had said, her dress was muddy and her hair a tangle, but Jon would have her no other way, if he could see her smile like that every day.

“She’s contented here,” Davos smiled as they both watched her laugh at something Podrick said, before the boy obviously bid her good day and she skipped toward the castle door, dropping onto the front steps to greet Ghost, who eagerly licked her face. Sansa waved at Podrick who was making to leave.

“Aye,” Jon said, “She seems so…”

Davos watched Jon as Jon watched Podrick, “Your jealousy is unfounded,” the older man suddenly said.

Jon’s head whipped up to now glare at Davos, “I’m not jealous.”

Davos only chuckled and scratched at his beard, “Podrick makes her laugh and smile, and you look nigh on ready to kill the lad.”

“Podrick is a good man,” Jon said trying to brush Davos’ accusation away.

“Aye, he is,” Davos gave him a leveling glare, “And she is a good woman.”

“Aye, I know she is,” Jon said irritably, bristling under Davos’ scrutiny.

“You know she’d never…” Davos started to assure, but Jon interrupted him.

“I don’t fear that, I know she’d never stray,” He said with conviction, once again looking down into the courtyard where Sansa was still showering affection on Ghost.

“Then what?” Davos urged.

“She’s never had a chance to choose…” Jon said softly, feeling strangely vulnerable at the confession, “Or to love where she desired…”

“And you think if she had been given a real choice, she would have choosen to love Podrick?” Davos asked.

“They are of an age, and they enjoy each other, and he seems to make her laugh far more than I ever do, and there is a part of me that’s…” Jon took a breath, feeling as if he were baring his soul, “… I wish I could say I would not begrudge her her feelings for him… she’s still young, and… pure hearted…”

“Jon…” Davos was smiling.

“But I want her to choose me…” Jon looked at Davos then, “Though broken and brittle as I am… I want her to choose me…”

Davos put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, “I think you misjudge the situation.”

“Do I?” Jon asked in resignation.

“Aye, you do,” said Davos, straightforwardly, “Podrick is a good man… it’s true… but she does not look at him the way she looks at you…”   
“I fear I frighten her more than anything,” Jon ran a hand through his hair, thinking of her skittish movements and nervous glances whenever they were alone together.

“Its easy to miss,” Davos said with a chuckle, “Especially since she seems determined to keep it from you, or perhaps she is unaware of it herself…”

Jon looked down at Sansa, and grinned when she caught sight of him and waved. Jon waved back before looking to Davos.

“It may not yet be love in her eyes,” Davos said, “But it is far more than mere fondness, or appreciation for what you have done for her.”

Jon looked down at her again to find her still looking up at him. He was not sure it was love yet for him either, but he could not deny that whatever he felt for her was more than mere fondness as well. _I want to be a comfort to you_ , she had told him this morning in bed, and the sweetness in her eyes had nearly broken his heart then and there, for he knew she was far more than just a comfort to him too…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: (Sansa POV) How Sansa muddied her dress and then goes home to Jon and their bedchamber ;-)


	27. The South Border (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, here is my next little update. I did not quite make it to the bedchamber scene, as I am still deciding whose POV to have it from and thought this was a good place to stop while I decide. I hope it's not too disappointing. 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments, I have read them all over and over, because they make me happy and excited to write!

“The river has the best fish… really big ones!” Lyanna said to Sansa as they walked from the church toward the castle. Jon had a meeting in town and after Sansa had playfully scolded him for conducting business on the Sabbath, he set off toward town and Sansa had run into Lyanna, who had plans to fish at the creek on the south border of the Winterfell estate.

“Podrick is going to go with me and you should too,” Lyanna said matter-of-factly, “Fishing is a useful skill and even ladies should have useful skills.”

Sansa had to bite back a laugh, “Perhaps you and Podrick may teach me then.”

“You needn’t be patronizing,” Lyanna huffed.

“My apologies,” Sansa hid her grin and continued to follow Lyanna. Sansa had originally been walking to the village to check on Mya, who had not been in church this morning. Sansa did not blame her. A week had passed since Aegon’s departure, and most of the village knew of the scandal and the part Mya played in it. Sansa did not want Mya to feel alone… Perhaps she and Podrick might coax Mya from her cottage to go fishing with Lyanna? And if Mya and Podrick spent some time together, perhaps their friendship would mend as well?

They had returned to Winterfell briefly so that Sansa could grab a basket and change from her church clothes before striking out together toward the village. When they reached the village, Podrick was already waiting for Lyanna on the steps of the Mormont cottage, he stood upon seeing them, and smiled pleasantly at them.

“Well, Lady Sansa, I see Lady Mormont has recruited you as well into her army,” Podrick laughed, and Lyanna glowered at him.

“Everyone should know how to fish, Podrick,” Lyanna stated firmly.

“Indeed, they should,” Podrick agreed with a grin.

“Before we go,” Sansa began, “I thought I might look in on Mya and see if she might like to walk with us.”

“Good luck on that account,” said Lyanna with a roll of her eyes, “I knocked on her door yesterday, and she would not answer, even though I know she’s home.”

“Have you talked to her?” Sansa asked Podrick, who looked pained.

“She’ll not see me either,” he said with a shrug.

“But you tried?”

Podrick nodded, and ran his hand through his hair, “We’ve been friends our whole lives, and now she wants even less to do with me than before when she was, um… with…”

Sansa patted Podrick’s arm, “I don’t think it’s you, Pod…”

“No?” Podrock asked with a rueful laugh, “It feels like it is.”

“Wait for me for a moment,” Sansa said, “I’ll invite her to fish with us.”

“Only if she promises not to cry, crying will scare away the fish,” Lyanna said with a scowl and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Perhaps fishing might cheer her up,” said Sansa.

Lyanna shrugged, “Maybe.”

With that the three of them strolled down the lane to Mya’s door. Sansa noted that some of the flowers in Mya’s window boxes were starting to wilt. She knocked.

“Go away!” came Mya’s voice from inside.

“Mya?” Sansa called, “It’s Sansa.”

“Sansa?”

“Yes, may I come in?” Sansa asked and motioned for Podrick and Lyanna to move away so that they did not crowd the door. She heard footsteps. A moment later, Mya cracked open the door.

Sansa offered her a smile, “Can I come in?”

Mya nodded, and opened the door just enough for Sansa to come inside.

“How are you?” Sansa asked sympathetically as Mya shut the door behind them.

“I’m alright as rain, Lady Sansa,” Mya said with an unconvincing smile, as she fretted with straightening the little table in her cottage.

“Podrick and Lyanna Mormont are outside, and we are all about to go down to the River and fish,” Sansa tried, “Do you want to come with us?”

Mya frowned, and sat down at the table across from Sansa, “I don’t want to fish, I have things to do here.”

Sansa looked around the cottage.

“And I certainly don’t want to see Podrick Payne,” Mya said sadly, her cheeks flushed with shame.

“Well, I think Pod wants to see you,” Sansa retorted.

“Why would he?” Mya asked in a whisper, “I’ve spoiled everything…”

“No, you haven’t,” Sansa insisted giving Mya’s hand a squeeze, “A mistake cannot spoil a true friendship.”

Mya looked at Sansa.

“You and Pod have been friends your whole lives,” Sansa said firmly, “And you are both lesser people than I gave you credit for, if you let this mistake ruin something that has endured for so long.”

Mya’s eyes looked a little watery, “Is he angry with me?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Sansa suggested.

“I couldn’t,” said Mya, shaking her head.

“Then how will you ever know?” Sansa asked, repeating Marya’s words to her, and internally chastised herself for not practicing what she was regurgitating to Mya.

“My reputation’s been ruined,” Mya said with a huff, “And all my own doing, I’ve been a fool.”

Sansa came over to the other girl and put a hand on her shoulder, “We are all fools at times, my friend, but life must move forward.”

Mya looked at Sansa.

“You can’t stay inside your cottage forever,” Sansa said.

“I could try,” Mya replied with a sad chuckle.

“Life keeps going, Mya, don’t let Aegon steal anymore life from you,” Sansa and Mya stared at each other for a moment. Sansa had had to tell herself the same for several weeks after Harry’s abuse and lies. She was no stranger to the shame brought on by spoiled reputations, but at the end of all thing’s life went on… the world kept turning, and they must learn to go on with it.

Mya nodded.

Sansa took her hand and tugged her to her feet, “Come on, go with us.”

Finally, Mya gave her a small smile and rose from her seat.

* * *

The walk down to the river was a good deal further than Sansa imagined it would be, and she knew she was going to have to have one of her companions take her home or she would get lost for she truly had never been this far from the Castle that she could recall.

“Are we sure this river is on the Winterfell estate?” Sansa asked in concern.

“Aye, it tis,” Podrick said.

Mya was uncharacteristically quiet on their trek and Lyanna simply watched her, as if to make sure she was not going to burst into tears. The river was beautiful, with pristine water, and Sansa could see fish darting around in the gentle current. The woods around the river was quiet and Sansa thought the place quite tranquil, maybe not so enchanted as the fairy pool nearer the castle, but it was majestic in its own way. For awhile the four of them were quiet, Sansa and Mya sitting silently together on a stone as Podrick and Lyanna fished. Sansa had so few memories of contentedness before coming back here, that she treasured each moment at Winterfell. For all that she had forgotten, she was still home. Occasionally, Lyanna and Podrick would exchange comments in Gaelic and though Sansa could not understand what they were saying she felt the language deep in her soul. Gaelic always made her think of her father. Sansa was startled from her thoughts by Lyanna’s loud laugh as she tossed a rather large fish into her basket. The little girl had her skirts hoisted and tucked into her belt, to where her bloomers were showing, and she was wet with river water. Lyanna reminded her of Arya. Arya had been so young… had so much life before her and yet it was snatched so cruelly away. Arya had always been dirty with her hair in a tangle, and her parents had been hard pressed to make her a little lady. It had not been so with Sansa, for even as young as she was, Sansa had always been a lady, drawn to pretty and delicate things and always mindful of her manners. She and Arya had been so different. Arya would have loved this river… Sansa smiled at the thought, as the wind tousled her own hair.

“Lady Sansa,” Lyanna called, “You have to come and learn to fish now.”

Chuckling, Sansa stood and joined Lyanna on the bank of the river. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pod approached Mya.

“I don’t know how you have gotten along this far without knowing how to catch a fish,” Lyanna sighed in exasperation, “How do you feed Jon?”

Sansa could only smile, not wanting to embarrass Lyanna by telling her that Winterfell had a cook, “Jon get’s fed well enough,” She said instead, and Lyanna looked skeptical.

“Put the hook in the water,” Lyanna instructed directing Sansa and urging her to wade into the shallow bit of the river. Sansa grimaced. If she waded in, not only would her shoes get wet, but she would be in the mud and muck.

“I have to take my shoes off,” Sansa said before taking the rod. Quickly, while Lyanna impatiently tapped her foot, Sansa stripped her feet of shoes and stockings and hiked up her skirts as best she could. She was not, however, going to tuck her skirts into her undergarments like Lyanna had done… the hem would simply have to get wet. Gingerly, she stepped into the cool water, and she thought she heard Podrick and Mya sniggering playfully at her. She had never done anything like this before… she had never had cause too. She dropped the twine with the hook into the water and looked back at Lyanna for guidance.

“And now you wait,” said Lyanna as she sat down in the grass beside the basket.

“In the water?” Sansa asked.

“Yes,” said Lyanna, “And quietly, or you will scare them all away.”

Sansa nodded and glanced over at Pod and Mya who were sitting on the big boulder together. They smiled at her encouragingly, and so she focused her attention back on the water.

It was rather relaxing in a way, Sansa thought, as she stood there and waited. Pod’s line was back in the water, and Lyanna was seeing what she could capture with a net. Mya looked contented, though her eyes were sad, as she watched them. Every so often Pod stole glances at Mya, that told Sansa that no matter how disappointed he had been, he might still harbor some feelings for her. Sansa wanted Mya to be happy, to smile, and to know that Aegon had not ruined all her hope. She knew it was not easy to heal from such wounds and disappointments. Sansa was not sure she herself had healed… a bitter voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she was still quite broken.

“Something’s tugging at your line, Lady Sansa,” Lyanna said suddenly.

Sansa’s eyes whipped back to her line, and it was indeed being tugged at, and so she began to try and pull it in. The small tug turned into a sharp jerk, and Sansa released a little squeal of surprise, as she tried to maintain her grip on the rod.

“You have to pull it in,” Lyanna instructed.

Chuckling as the fish gave another sharp jerk, Sansa tried to pull but her feet seemed rooted and she looked down to see that her feet were quite buried in the mud. She tried to free her feet, and when she freed one the fishing line jerked again. Determined not to be defeated by the fish, Sansa kept her grip on the rod and tried to take a step backward. When she did, however, her free foot caught on a root, and Sansa tumbled backward into the shallow water and the mud, splashing water all over her all the way up to her hair. The rod, however, was still gripped tightly in her fingers. She was silently stunned at first, and she looked up at Lyanna who had dashed over to take the reel from her hands. Lyanna’s eyes were wide with both shock and amusement. The little girl was certainly trying to hide a smile. Sansa felt herself being lifted by the arms and put back on her feet, and Podrick laughed.

“Well, Lady Sansa, consider this your christening,” He said with a smile, “You are now officially one of us.”

Sansa looked up at Mya, whose eyes were a light with mirth. Sansa found a giggle escape her and then a full-blown laugh. Then they all laughed with her. Lyanna managed to pull the fish in… it was quite large.

“I told you this river had the best fish!” Lyanna exclaimed, and the three adults only laughed all the harder.

* * *

On the walk back to the castle that evening, Sansa had never had such a merry or full heart. On the walk, Podrick, Mya and Lyanna taught her a song in Gaelic and they sung it as loud as they could, even as they strode down the lane toward the village. They paid no heed to any carriages passing by. Sansa’s dress was muddy, and her hair was a tangle, not unlike Arya’s when they had been little girls, but for the first time in a long time she felt happy as they skipped along the lane singing their song. When they arrived at the Mormon cottage they split their small catch between them, and though Sansa tried to refuse, not wishing to take what could fill their bellies when she had plenty, Lyanna insisted that she take at least one fish, to feed to Jon that night. Sansa could not refuse and so Lyanna instructed her on how to properly prepare the fish, to both Pod and Mya’s amusement. Finally, with her fish in her basket, Podrick offered to walk her safely home. Her light heartedness could not be contained even on their walk home and she was excited to see Jon and tell him about her day and her mishaps and about how Mya smiled. When she bid Podrick good day, she found Ghost on the front steps of the main house in the castle.

“Hello, my sweet boy,” Sansa greeted him and plopped down onto the steps beside the giant white wolf. Ghost licked her face making her laugh. She sat her basket aside and scratched Ghost behind the ears, “Is your father at home yet?” She asked him with a smile.

Ghost only nudged her with his head demanding her affections. Sansa sat there for a few moments, breathing in the fresh air, and loving on Ghost, and when she looked up, she saw Jon standing on the battlements with Davos. She smiled and waved at him, her soul still feeling light. She wondered if he knew anything about cooking a fish. He looked so strong and regal standing up there, as if he were a Medieval King from Scotland of Old. The thought made her smile, and she was thankful that he presided over their little kingdom with such kindness, strength and diligence. Though she was not always sure of herself when with him, or confident in her ability to trust him, his kindness had inspired a tiny blossoming of hope inside her. She was not sure she was willing to confess something that seemed so tender, not even to herself, but the persistent, nagging little bit of hope was there and tucked deeply in her heart. Picking up her basket containing her fish, she went inside calling Ghost to follow. She would need to bathe before supper, as she imagined she smelled of fish and river water.

Leaving her fish with a rather befuddled Cook who looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses, Sansa asked one of the maids if she might draw her a bath, then she and Ghost bounded up the stairs, skipping down the hallway, nearly running into Jon as he exited the doorway to the castle turret that led to the battlements. Sansa came to a halt and blushed, though she was still quite breathless. She glanced up at him and he was looking her over.

“You are quite a sight,” He said with a chuckled, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Sansa gnawed her lower lip, “Jeyne Poole was quite scandalized when she saw you on the road today.”

Sansa could have kicked herself; she knew better than to be skipping down the lane in her muddied dress… the impropriety no doubt would scandalize anyone. They had been quite rowdy, but Sansa had not been able to help herself. Mya was smiling, and the world seemed to be turning in just the right way today. She was not entirely sure if Jon was scandalized or not, but the corners of his mouth were twitching in that endearing half smile of his.

“What were you doing to get your dress in such a state?” He asked with an amused laugh.

“Lyanna Mormont, Podrick and I went fishing down at the river, and we managed to get Mya to come along, and I fell in… sort of… and I caught a fish, do you know how to cook a fish?” The words tumbled out of Sansa’s mouth in rapid succession, and so pleased with herself was she, that she did not at first notice Jon’s smile fall to a frown.

“The river on the south border?” He asked seriously.

“Yes, I believe so,” Sansa recoiled slightly.

“Do not go down there again,” Jon commanded, making Sansa take a step back.

“Why ever not? Tis only a river, and it’s our land is it not?” The words fell from her mouth before she could catch them, and then she waited with bated breath for the inevitable backlash for such impertinency.

“It’s the border between ours and the Frey land, the Frey’s are kin to the Boltons, and we are not on amenable terms with the Boltons,” Jon explained firmly.

“The Frey’s would wish me harm on account of the Bolton’s? I’ve never even met the Frey’s,” Sansa said, feeling her heart sink. She had so wanted him to feel as happy as she felt, wanted to tell him about her day, and yet it seemed she had displeased him.

“They are kin,” Jon said as if that explained everything, “I know you don’t understand clan ties, but they can be deadly.”

Sansa tried to hide her wounded pride at his words. They reminded her of how little she knew of Scotland, though it be her birthplace. No, she did not understand such clannishness, for she had left Scotland young and there was much she did not remember. Something that had bloomed inside her, began to wilt. She dropped her eyes.

“Promise me you will keep away from the south border,” He asked.

Sansa nodded, her earlier giddiness fading.

Jon tipped her chin up to meet his gaze, his eyes soft now and dangerously kind, “I’m not trying to scold you,” He said gently, “I just want to keep you safe.”

She nodded again, and he sighed, in what she imagined was exasperation, but for what she did not know.

“I’d still like to hear about your day and whether or not you and Podrick and Lyanna managed to cheer Mya,” Jon tried.

“I need to bathe and get out of this dirty dress,” Sansa said.

He nodded, looking sorry as she turned away from him and escaped into their room… her room. Once the maid had finished preparing her bath, Sansa stripped her dirty dress off and sank into the warm water to soothe her weary bones, and aching heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: The Bedchamber


	28. Silent Honesties (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out pretty long for me. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Jon and Sansa's lovin is still a little tinged with awkwardness, but they are learning and growing together. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments! I get so excited every time I see one in my inbox!

Jon watched as Sansa shut the door behind her. He was angry with himself. Having been rattled to hear that she was so near the Frey land and so far away from the castle without him knowing, his words had stumbled from his mouth without thinking. Neither the Bolton’s nor the Frey’s could be trusted, and they were not above hurting innocent people to get what they wanted. Sansa, however, was not his soldier, his servant, or his ward, and yet he had ordered her about as if she were his to command. He just wanted to keep her safe, but as they so often did, his words had failed him. Jon trudged down the stairs and nearly walked into Cook in the landing, who was holding a rather large, dead fish in her hand.

“And what exactly is the missus wanting me to do with this?” Cook demanded. Grinning, Jon ran a hand through his hair. Sansa had said she caught a fish and she had asked him if she knew how to cook it.

“I’ll take care of it,” Jon said with a chuckle, taking the fish by the tail, “Take the evening off…”

“But what will you and the missus eat?” Cook asked in protest with her hands on her hips.

Jon gave the fish a little shake, and Cook just shook her head, looking scandalized herself.

“Will you have the maid ask Sansa to meet me in the back courtyard when she is done with her bath?”

“What in heaven’s name are you going to do back there, sir?” Cook scowled.

“I’m going to start a fire and cook a fish,” Jon explained simply, as Cook followed him into the kitchen.

“Or set the castle afire,” Cook tutted at him, “And don’t you be mucking up my clean kitchen!”

“I would not dream of it,” Jon chuckled, “Do you have a knife?”

“For butchering a fish?”

“Aye.”

Cook handed him a knife as she rolled her eyes.

“I know how to cook a fish,” Jon assured her.

Cook sighed, “I never said you didn’t.”

“Your eyes were saying it,” Jon grinned at the portly older lady.

“Well stop looking at me eyes then.”

“I thought I told you to take the night off?” Jon chuckled, as he finished gathering the items her needed from the kitchen.

“Aye, that’s what ye told me, so t’won’t be my fault if the castle is burn down to kindling in the morning,” Cook huffed and took off her apron.

“You worry too much.”

“And I always thought you were the worrier around here,” she retorted and shook her head at him, and disappeared out the kitchen door. Jon heard her order a maid upstairs to check on Lady Sansa before the house went silent. Jon did not keep many staff on Sundays, generally just a maid and cook, and usually they both left early. The last thing he wanted was an overworked staff. He wondered though if he should give over the running of the house staff to Sansa, as he had other household responsibilities.

* * *

There was a fire pit dug out in the back courtyard of Winterfell. He imagined this pit might suffice for his purposes. Grabbing the supplies, he had gathered, including a few blankets, he went outside. There were certain places in the Winterfell Estate that had always seemed too private for his use… as if he were intruding on someone else’s home… the back courtyard was one of those places. There were large trees shading the area, and a small pond, and it was quite private and removed from the rest of the castle. Jon could imagine Sansa as a little girl here, twirling in brightly colored frocks with her fiery hair in braids, her laughter like music as she and her sibling raced around the courtyard. The thought made him sad, wishing he could fix all the hurt the world had wrought upon her. Clearing the pit to build a fire took more time than he anticipated, but he was not going to give Cook the satisfaction of telling him, “I told you so,” by burning the old place down. The years of his life that he had spent at Winterfell had been lonely ones, though he had been lonely most of his life, but Cook had always managed to bring a smile to his face and made him feel a little less alone in the big empty castle. In moments of solitude, Jon dreamed of having a large family, with lots of children laughing and playing and filling the old castle with life and joy… the childhood that was denied to him. Jon, though, was careful to keep his expectations low. They may have one or two and Sansa may decide that she did not want any more.

“The maid said you wanted me?” Sansa’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He had not heard her approach, but he looked up to find her walking toward him, clean, with her hair still damp as she braided it over her shoulder. He smiled. She surveyed the fire, and the fish, and the blankets, and she looked at him with a blank look on her face, “What are you doing?”

“I know how to cook a fish,” He said simply, wishing she would smile like she had been smiling earlier. He thought he saw one corner of her mouth quirk. Standing, he came to her and took her hand, and she placidly allowed him to lead her to the blanket he had spread out beside the fire. They sat down beside each other, “Would you like to learn?” He asked.

Sansa looked at him for a moment before nodding.

Perhaps for a little while they could pretend that they were not Lord and Lady Snow? Perhaps for a while they could just be Jon and Sansa, a shepherd and his wife? Jon handed her the knife.

“Where did you learn?” Sansa asked softly, as he laid the fish before her and directed her hands.

“The army,” Jon said simply.

She nodded.

“I suppose I learned a few useful skills during those times,” Jon said with a rueful smile.

“Lyanna Mormont says that it is a skill everyone should know,” Sansa said seriously, though there was humor in her eyes, “She wondered how it was that I kept you fed, if I did not know how to fish.”

“I suppose I’m starving to death,” Jon chuckled, indicating where on the fish she needed to make her cuts. He could not help but grin as she wrinkled her nose at the smell but did not complain. Their fingertips brushed together as he directed her, and they smiled sheepishly at each other as he covered her hand with his own and helped her gut the fish without destroying the meat. Quietly, over the open fire, Jon showed her how they cooked fish in the army. Occasionally, he stole glances at her, and saw her gnawing her lower lip in thought. The sun was starting to set but it was already quite dark in the courtyard that was so well shaded by trees.

“Are you cold?” He finally asked, noting her damp hair.

“A little,” She confessed, and he took one of the blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders. Finally, she met his eyes, “Are you angry with me?” The words dropped from her mouth and hung in the air between them. She stared at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable.

Jon reached out to touch her cheek, but she instinctively drew back. He dropped his hand, “No, no I’m not angry with you, Leannan, how were you too know not to go down to the river?” He assured taking her hands and wiping them with the cloth and water he had brought outside.

She nodded and he looked up at her.

“You are not my soldier nor my servant,” Jon said softly, “And I’m sorry for ordering you as if you were mine to command.”

She looked at him again, and he saw hurt in her eyes and it pained him that he put it there.

“I just want you to be safe,” He continued, “I had a run in today with Ramsey Bolton, and the Boltons and I were already on less than congenially terms, and I should have told you before barking out orders.”

She nodded.

“Will you forgive me?” He asked.

She considered him for a moment, “Yes,” she whispered and looked back at the fish.

Jon sighed and nodded, not entirely convinced that she did.

“I won’t go down to the river again, I promise,” She said.

“Thank you.”

They stared at the fire together and Jon toyed with her hand until he thought the fish might be done. They took it off the skewers, placing it on the plate Jon had brought, and seasoned it. Jon drew a little closer to her, and though she looked a little skittish, he held her gaze.

“You haven’t brought any utensils, Jon,” She said in a breathy whisper.

Jon picked some fish off the plate and offered it to her, “We don’t need any.”

Her cheeks turned pink, “Do we not?”

“No,” He offered her the bite of fish from his hand again, and her eyes twinkled with an amusement she tried to hide as she brought her lips to his fingers and allowed him to feed it to her.

“Is that how you did it in the army?” She asked, with a straight face.

Jon laughed, and rubbed the back of his neck, “No, no not exactly.”

The corners of her mouth tugged upward in a hidden smile.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” Jon asked, trying to draw her out of the shell she had retreated into after their earlier conversation.

“Yes, I’ve not had such a joyful afternoon in a very long time,” Sansa confessed softly as she looked into the fire and reached for another bite of fish.

“I’m sorry I ruined it.”

“You didn’t,” She said with a gentle smile to him.

They lapsed into silence once more.

“They taught me a song in Gaelic,” Sansa said in a whisper, breaking the silence.

Jon smiled at her, “Do you remember the words?”

“You want me to sing it?” She giggled in disbelief.

“Yes,” Jon teased.

“I cannot rightly recall the words,” Sansa blushed.

“Not even a few?”

Sansa shook her head, and dropped her eyes, but Jon recognized shyness.

“Would it help if I turned away?” He asked.

“No,” She protested.

“You don’t have to sing for me,” He assured her and took her hand.

“I don’t remember the words,” She maintained.

He grinned at her teasingly, and took another bite of fish, “As you say my lady.”

“It was about Bonnie Prince Charlie,” said Sansa picking at the grass and drawing her blanket tighter around her.

Jon took her hand, “Better not let the English hear ye, or they’re bound to think you a Jacobite.”

Sansa laughed, the merry laugh that she had laughed in the courtyard, but then her eyes grew serious, “It made me feel Scottish again.”

Jon smiled sadly thinking of all their common folk who were slowly being pushed into the cities and away from their traditional ways of life, “You are Scottish,” Jon said firmly, “You have that red fairy hair and all…”

She looked at him with hard honest eyes, “Even though I don’t understand clan ties?”

Jon sat up and looked at her, “Sansa…”

To his surprise and heart break, tears welled in her eyes that she tried to brush away, “Have I forgotten all that it means to be Scottish?”

“Sansa…” Jon reached for her and she pushed his hands away.

“My father loved his country,” She said, “And he took me south, and left me there, and now there is nothing Scottish left in me,” The tears fell down her cheeks, “They robbed it from me!”

“Sansa, no…”

“You think so too…” Sansa insisted, still pushing his hands away.

“Sansa,” Jon said firmly, trying again to gather her in his arms, “Leannan, they cannot rob you of something that is part of you, nor can any words of mine…”

She sniffed.

“I’m sorry, Leannan, for saying foolish things, please forgive me?” Jon asked, looking her in the eyes.

“It’s true though,” She said.

He cupped her faced between his hands, “It’s not.”

“It is, I don’t understand the clans anymore, or Gaelic…” She released a huff of breath.

“Whatever you don’t remember, you can learn, Leannan,” Jon said firmly, “Those things don’t make you Scottish.”

She looked at him, “I feel so lost here…”

“You belong here,” Jon assured her, finally able to pull her into his arms, “You belong in this country, and in this castle, and here… with…” He hesitantly added, “…with me.”

She looked up at him, “Are… are you happy with me here?”

Jon held her closer, “Happier than I can ever remember being.”

Seeming content with his answer, she lay her head back against his shoulder.

“When I was a boy, living just trying to stay out of my father, and then my Uncle’s way, I dreamed of having a home and a family of my own,” Jon confessed, “A home full of laughter and joy.”

“That’s how it was when I was a little girl, when my family was still alive,” Sansa said softly, “Sometimes I think I can hear it, Arya and Robb’s laughter, the voice of my mother while she brushed my hair, my father playing the bagpipes for me…”

Jon turned his head and kissed her cheek, then brushed away the remains of her tears, “I’m sorry for my thoughtless and callous words earlier, Leannan.”

“Think not on it anymore, Jon,” Sansa whispered.

“Forgive me?” He asked.

“I forgive you,” She squeezed his hand.

Jon shifted her against him so that he could kiss her, pouring all his affections for her into the kiss. Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing across his beard. He coaxed her mouth with his tongue and smiled against her mouth when she shyly parted her lips. Her hand on his chest clutched the front of his shirt.

“Sansa…” He groaned.

“Yes?” She asked breathlessly in response. She looked at him and he kissed her again, firmly and passionately, until she was sinking down… down onto the blankets. She released a puff of breath as he laid her down, and nearly collapsed atop her. Breathing deeply, he smiled down at her and stroked some of her hair out of her face. She gave him a shy smile, one hand moving to stroke his arm. God, her heart was beating so fast, he could feel it against his chest. There were so many things he wanted to know, and so many things he wanted to ask, but he did not know where to begin.

“Are you frightened of me?” Jon asked, voicing one of his own insecurities, though he truly wanted to ask, _do you want me? Do you choose me?_ But could not bring the words to his lips for they felt too raw, and he found himself frightened of what her response might be.

Her hand came up to stroke his cheek, “No…” She whispered, “I’m not frightened of you…”

Jon smiled and kissed her again, moving to rest more fully atop her, which caused her to spread her legs on either side of him. He rocked against her, making her arch against him and gasp against his mouth.

“Jon…” she whispered, frantically, “Jon…” she pushed at him and so he raised up a bit to look into her eyes, “Not here,” She said, “Someone will see.”

“Nay, no one will see but me, Leannan,” Jon said gruffly, and kissed her again, sinking his hands into her hair, “I’ll make sure of that…”

“Jon, not here…” She said again, looking nervous.

Jon stroked his finger down her cheek, “Aye, sweetheart, as you like,” he nuzzled his nose against hers, and rose. Quickly, he doused the fire with the bucket of ash he had brought from the hearth. As she started to rise, Jon swept her into his arms, and she let out a little squeal of surprise.

“The dishes…” Sansa started to protest.

“Tomorrow...” Jon kissed her

“Tomorrow?”

“Aye, tomorrow I’ll fetch ‘em,” he mumbled against her mouth, “Tonight there’s more important things.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet and Jon carried her inside.

* * *

Jon carried her to her dark room and gently lay her down on the bed before stripping off his shirt. She was gnawing on her lower lip as she watched him. He crawled back onto the bed and caught her leg as she shied away from him. He kissed her knee and looked into her eyes.

“I’d have you again, Leannan,” He whispered, “If you would have me.”

She was silently staring at him for so long that Jon nearly retracted his request and suggested they go to sleep. Then she gave him a gentle, shy smile.

“I’d have you, Jon,” She said in a shaky voice, “Its only…” she seemed to search for words.

“What is it?” Jon urged.

She closed her eyes and took a breath, “I’m frightened…”

Jon looked her at. In the courtyard, she said she was not frightened of him, he drew back.

“This… this is a great trust…. Even more than I thought before…” Sansa said looking to the side as she spoke, seeming unable to meet his eyes.

“Aye it is,” Jon agreed still feeling uncertain.

“Since my family died…” She huffed, “Everyone I’ve ever come to trust, has broken me in some way…”

Did she think he would break her? Jon reached for her hand, “Aye, I know, love, and I know it’s easy for me to say now, when it’s not been put to the test, but I’ll not be like the others…”

She smiled sweetly.   
“I’ll endeavor everyday to earn and keep your trust, that I can promise you,” Jon sat up and squeezed her hand, “We need not have each other tonight,” He said though it pained him, “We can sleep in each other’s arms… that would be enough.”

Sansa looked up at him, “No.”

“No?” Jon repeated.

“I would have you tonight,” Sansa said, her eyes shyly dropping from his, “I… I want to make a family with you, Jon…”

He smiled.

“A family… like… like the one you imagined…” Her cheeks were pink when she said it, and she went back to gnawing her lower lip, “I’m… I’m only nervous… I thought I should tell you.”

Jon leaned down and pressed a kiss against her neck, “Aye, you can tell me anything, Leannan, I want to help carry your burdens, and your fears, and your joys.”

“And I want to help carry yours,” Sansa replied.

Jon leaned down and captured her mouth and stroked the hair off her forehead as he kissed her, until she was breathless and panting, “May I take your dress off?”

Sansa sat up for a moment, “Yes, let me get my nightgown…”

Jon grabbed her hand to halt her, “I’d like to see you, Leannan, if you’ll allow me…”

Sansa swallowed, “See me?”

“Aye,” Jon smiled trying to lighten the mood, “It’s not broad daylight after all.”

They stood together. Her eyes twinkled in the dark room, only illuminated by the fire in the hearth… it made her hair glow. She started to unlace her gown, and Jon stilled her hands.

“Let me…”

She nodded, and the air in the room grew thick. Slowly, being sure to be mindful of her reactions, Jon drew her dress down her body, letting it pool at her feet. Her breathing deepened. When the last layer of her clothes dropped, Sansa darted back to the bed and nearly dove under the covers before he could get a good look at her. Jon would not push her, and so he said nothing, only removed his breeches. Her eyes studied his naked body with curiosity, and he suddenly felt shy himself, wandering what she was thinking. The blankets were up to her chin as he slid in beside her, both completely bare. Jon drew close to her and put a hand on her belly. He felt it quiver beneath his touch. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he brushed his fingertips up and down her belly, stopping just below her navel, and just below her breasts.

“Where would you like me to touch you, Sansa?” Jon asked, cradling the top of head with one hand while his other continued up and down her belly.

“I… I… don’t know…” She confessed her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Jon continued to rub and caress her body, until he felt some of the tension leave her. Her eyes were on his face, with a certain amount of trust he had not seen in them before.

“Marya says sometimes this takes practice,” Sansa whispered.

Jon chuckled, “You’ve been talking to Marya about this?”

“Not in so many words,” Sansa said softly.

“But you want to practice?” Jon asked with a grin.

“Aye,” She said as she scooted a little closer to him and he reached under her shoulders and cradled her against him, as his other hand continued caressing her soft skin. She pressed a hesitant kiss against his neck, which made him smile. Leaning down he kissed her mouth, and she sighed, in what he hoped was contentment. Reaching a little lower, Jon ran his hand along her thigh and her unsure, and unpracticed hand stroked through his hair.

“Your hair is soft,” She said, almost in awe, making Jon laugh and kiss her again.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Is that a strange thing to say to a man?” Sansa asked curiously.

“No,” Jon kissed her breathless, and playfully nipped at her lips, “And I like your fingers in it.”

She smiled sweetly and ran her fingers through his hair once more. Jon grazed his fingers a little closer to her most intimate place.

“May I touch you down here?” He asked. Sansa tightened the hold she had on him and placed another unsure kiss against his neck.

“Yes,” she whispered.

As Jon tenderly stroked and petted and roused her, he felt her trembling in his arms, and briefly, the thought crossed his mind that he had never held anything so precious in his life.

“Oh,” She whined softly, pressing her face into the space between his neck and shoulder, when he touched a certain spot. Jon kissed the top of her head.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, gruffly.

She nodded. It gave him pleasure that she drew closer, rather than pulling away, even though she still had her face shyly hidden against his neck. Pulling back the covers just a bit, Jon leaned his head down and latched onto a nipple, making her moan, and pull at his hair.

“Jon…” She whispered in a panted breath, her body seeming to strain toward his. Jon was nearly atop her now, his hand still between her legs and his mouth still at her breast. He wanted to kiss her all over body, from her head to her toes, but mostly everywhere in between, and vaguely he wondered if she would let him one day.

“Sansa…” He panted against her breast, and her back arched as she pulled at his hair. He continued his ministrations until she let out a soft, startled cry. For a moment they were quiet, Jon with his head pillowed against her breast, before he slowly moved over her, the blanket still tightly wrapped around them. Jon hooked his arm under her knee, allowing her knee to rest in the crook of his elbow as he grasped her bottom in the palm of his hand. Lifting his head, Jon nuzzled his nose against her hairline until she looked at him. There was a sheen of sweat across her brow. She gave him a tender, shy smile. When he nudged against her, she nodded in permission and Jon sank inside her as if they were made for each other. He kept her knee in the crook of his elbow, and pressed deeper, until she was panting and shaking, and holding so tight to him, he thought he might not be able to breath. The slow push and pull of their bodies was torturous pleasure, but he feared moving too fast, as he did not want to overwhelm her, or frighten her. She opened her eyes for a moment and looked at him, and he nuzzled his nose against hers, trying to maintain control, though he felt it slipping, his end nearing. She wrapped the leg he was not holding around his waist, and he groaned, tilting her hips up to take more of him. A soft moan escaped her lips and he captured it with a kiss. When it was over, Jon collapsed atop her for a moment, trying to catch his breath, his head buried next to hers on the pillow, with his chin resting on her shoulder. He felt her stroking his hair, not pulling at it, or urging him off… just stroking and soothing. Jon could not remember ever having been soothed much in his life, and the thought was a painful one. He loved her hand stroking his hair. They were silent, and Jon did not move, fearing that if he did, he would break whatever fragile intimacy was passing between them in the silence. Vaguely, he wondered if he put a baby in her. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, and she continued to stroke his hair.


	29. Efforts (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I considered cutting this chapter out, and incorporating the plot points elsewhere, because its rather short and I know I start chapters way too often with them waking up in bed together, but decided to keep this one as it was, because I am apparently a sucker for them waking up in bed together. I hope you all don't mind! haha
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and for your comments!

Sansa looked at Jon. He lay on his back and had one arm anchored around her, where she nestled against his side, on her belly. She gnawed on lower lip as she studied him. She was very aware that they were both quite naked, and if she got up to retrieve her nightgown, she ran the risk of waking him. He had fallen asleep atop her after their intimacies last night, she had not minded though; she had fallen asleep not long after him. Sometime in the night and with a sheepish smile, he had gotten off her and pulled her against his side. She had not minded that either. Laying her head back down against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat and tentatively wrapped her own arm across his middle. _Forgive me_ … his words echoed in her heart and she held him a little tighter. Those words were so rare, especially when they were said so sincerely. Smiling, she pressed a kiss against his chest, and laid her head back down. He was a rare, good man… her husband. Love they may not have, but he respected her, and she had been lacking in respect, as much as love in her life since her family died. Feeling his fingers start to graze softly against her spine, she smiled. His hand moved to gently massage the back of her neck and Sansa sighed contentedly. He touched her with such care, not as if she might break, but rather with kindness and surety.

“Tis another morning,” Jon said in his deep morning voice.

“Aye, another day,” Sansa whispered in response, playfully imitating his accent. She could grow used to waking in his arms and his tender hands on her. It was a frightening thought. She looked up to find him smiling at her. Chuckling, he lifted the blanket enough to look beneath, and Sansa quickly shifted to be more fully on her belly so he could not see her completely bare front in the morning light. Giggling, she buried her face against his side. He laughed pleasantly.

“Still not going to let me see then?” He asked.

Shaking her head, she could have retorted that he had become familiar enough with her breasts last night, but such a thing seemed too brazen to say. She had gotten quite an eyeful of his bare body last night in the dim room and had determined that he was rather nice to look at. Jon started to rise, and Sansa groaned, not ready to get up. The room was a bit chilled. Laying on her stomach with her head resting on the bed and her arms curled beneath her, she watched him rise and walk across the room naked to stoke the fire. He returned to the bed, looked down at her and smiled fondly. She smiled in return. The blankets were still up around her shoulders. Crawling back onto the bed, Jon hovered above her on all fours. She looked over her shoulder at him. The sweetness in his eyes threatened to undo her.

“You’re so lovely,” he said with the sincerity of a boy, with his heart in his eyes. Brushing the hair off her neck, he leaned down and kissed her neck. When she sighed, he pulled the blanket down just below her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her spine, between her shoulder blades. He stopped and looked into her eyes, one hand going to knead her shoulder.

“You have good, sturdy shoulders,” He said.

She laughed at that, knowing her cheeks were red.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?” He asked with a bemused grin, hand still squeezing her shoulder.

“I don’t know that any woman wants to be characterized as sturdy,” Sansa giggled.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, “Strong then?”

“Aye, strong is acceptable,” She conceded, though such a description made her feel strangely vulnerable. She did not feel strong.

Their eyes met, as he bunched his hand in the blanket again, but he did not pull it down. He waited. When she nodded shyly, and buried her face in the bed, she felt him pull the blanket down toward her hips, until the hem lay across the small of her back, exposing the expanse of her back to him. He was silent for a few moments.

“You don’t say anything?” She asked, gnawing nervously on her lip, unsure how she felt about being on her stomach with him hovering above her the way that he was.

“Your skin is like porcelain,” He whispered reverently, “But you are no delicate thing…”

She smiled at his tender, unpracticed words.

He dropped kisses along her spine, until he reached the small of her back, then ran his hand from her hip, up her rib cage, to knead her shoulder once again.

“So lovely and strong,” he whispered again, and Sansa buried her face in the bed, feeling a few tears threatening her, “And clever too, you know?”

She did not say anything and felt him shift on the bed and could tell he was no longer hovering above her. Playfully, he patted her bottom over the blanket, which made her giggle, effectively staving off her tears.

“I best be getting dressed for the day, Davos needs me in the field.”

“Yes, you had best get dressed before my maid comes in,” Sansa teasingly scolded, taking a chance, “For you are  certainly a sight.”

She peeked up at him from the bed, and he was looking down at her. She looked him up and down, trying not to stare too long at his manhood...still not entirely sure how he fit inside her. 

“Am I?” He asked, with a cheeky grin.

She nodded.

“Do you like what you see then?” He asked, standing where she could see his full body.

Though she knew her face was red as a strawberry, feeling bold, she nodded again, which made him throw back his head and laugh, before he leaned over the bed, and kissed her cheek, looking at her fondly as he tucked some hair behind her ear. Sansa stay laying on the bed and watched him as he retrieved his discarded clothes and whistled for Ghost to follow. Sansa continued to watch him, until he disappeared through the study door.

* * *

“I see the master did not burn the house down in his efforts to woo you,” Cook said with a huff as Sansa entered the kitchen to retrieve forgotten milk for the tea that had been set out on the dining room table. Their newest maid had been rather mortified that she had forgotten the milk, but Sansa assured her that her job would not be in peril over a bit of milk.

“Is that what he was doing?” Sansa asked feigning innocence.

Cook only rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Sansa smiled and was not sure what to say. Was Jon trying to woo her? She blushed slightly thinking of last night. He had called her _love_ , and she had chosen not to make comment on it, choosing instead to believe that the endearment had rolled carelessly off his tongue in his efforts to reassure her. Did husbands woo where they had already conquered? She was his now… in every way. Why would he woo her? Sansa was not sure what to make of such a supposition, and so she retrieved the milk for the tea and re-entered the dining room.

Jon had arrived for breakfast as she opened the door, and he smiled at her. God, he had a beautiful smile. She had never seen someone’s face shine so when they smiled. His face was made to smile. She sat down at the table beside him and poured him a cup of tea. Quietly, she watched as he put two lumps of sugar and some milk in his cup. Sansa took nothing in her tea.

He reached out with his free hand and took hers, “I’m happy to find you here, and not hiding with the sheep.”

Sansa felt her cheeks blaze. Did he find joy in making her blush? “Should I be hiding?” Sansa teased.

Jon’s eyes darkened, “Maybe.”

Sansa looked down into her teacup and felt her heartbeat just a little bit faster. He had a rather feral look in his eyes, that made a shiver go down her spine. His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

Jon looked like he was about to say something else when they were interrupted by the arrival of Sam and Gilly, who were ushered in by a servant.

“Come in and eat with us!” Sansa invited as they stood to great their friends. Gilly had the children with her, the baby was strapped across her chest in a sort of cloth sling.

“Yes, please,” Jon said.

“We’ve already eaten,” Gilly said with a pleasant smile as Sansa came over to peek at the baby, “Sam has just come up to talk to Jon about politics.”

Sansa smiled as the baby yawned.

“Politics?” Jon nearly scowled. Sansa did not know Jon’s political leanings but his reluctance to speak on them, told her he did not care much for politics at all.

“Actually, more specifically…” Sam stammered, “More specifically I came to discuss the open magistrate’s seat, but I don’t want to interrupt breakfast…”

“You interrupt nothing, you are always welcome,” Jon clapped Sam on the shoulder, “But if you have come up to try and convince to step into the position, you know very well how I feel about it…”

Sansa looked between Jon and Sam.

“I still think you are making a mistake,” said Sam, “With you on the bench, real justice could be done…”

Sansa’s father had served as magistrate for all the childhood that Sansa could remember, only giving up his seat when war called him away. It was customary for the lord of Winterfell to carry out such an office.

“I just want to stay at Winterfell, raise sheep, and sit by the fire with Sansa,” Jon said, simply, making Sansa smile, “I’m not made for politics.”

“Is it truly politics though?” Sam pressed, “And you sell yourself short…”

“I just want peace, Sam,” Jon raked a hand through his curls, “I’ve had enough of the fight…”

“Jon…”

“Is this the only reason you came up this morning Sam?” Jon asked, obviously trying to avoid the subject.

“No, um, actually…. there is something else of importance…” Sam stammered again and looked at the women. Sansa looked between Jon and Sam and nodded encouragingly at Jon.

Taking her cue, Jon led Sam by the arm, “Come Sam, we can go into the parlor.”

The two men left Sansa and Gilly and the children at the table.

* * *

Sansa poured Gilly some tea, while Gilly nursed her baby. Gilly was not very shy about such things, and Sansa wondered if she would be when she became a mother. She longed for it and feared it all at the same time, recalling with no small amount of trepidation all she had witnessed at the birth of Gilly’s baby.

“What are they discussing, do you know?” Sansa could not help but ask as she looked back at the parlor door that had been closed.

“Sam said he needed to discuss it with Jon before anyone else,” Gilly said, “So I did not press.”

Sansa nodded.

Gilly winced as she swapped the baby to her other breast.

“Does it hurt?” Sansa asked.

“Sometimes,” Gilly confessed, “But usually only when she has not got a proper latch.”

Sansa nodded and took a sip of her tea.

“Will you and Jon be expecting soon?” Gilly asked straightforwardly.

“I don’t know,” said Sansa, she supposed it was possible, but truly had no understanding of how her body worked in such matters. No one had ever even truly explained to her the true nature of intimacies between a man and woman, let alone the specifics of how to make a baby. There were still aspects of the bedchamber that were rather alarming to her.

“Well, with marriage comes babes,” Gilly chuckled, “Even if it takes some time.”

Sansa did not volunteer the information that she and Jon had only ever tried twice.

“Tell me of this magistrate’s position,” Sansa requested, changing the subject.

“Well, for some time, Old Mr. Manderly, one of the Frey’s, and Mr. Karstark, have all sat the magistrates’ bench,” Gilly explained, “We’ve all suspected for some time that Karstark is in the pocket of the Boltons, and of course, the Bolton’s and the Frey’s are kin.”

Sansa nodded.

“Sam and Jon believe that is how Ramsey Bolton slipped justice when he was up for trial some time ago,” Gilly explained, “Mr. Karstark, however, recently stepped down.”

“And Sam wants Jon to take the position?”

“I believe many do,” Gilly said, “Jon is a good man, and people trust him, and he would give Mr. Manderly the spine to stand up to Bolton influence.”

“My father used to be a magistrate here,” Sansa said.

“I think the voice of Winterfell will always be honored in town, with you being Ned Stark’s daughter, I think it gives even more credence to Jon’s position.”

“But he does not want the position?” Sansa asked.

“Please do not tell him I said this,” Gilly prefaced, and Sansa nodded, “But I think sometimes Jon feels as though Winterfell is lent to him, as if he is not a true lord in his own right.”

Sansa nodded, she had observed that insecurity in her husband and wished to see him believe himself worthy of Winterfell and its lordship.

“He would be a great magistrate, and a great lord, if he would stop seeing himself here as if he were on approval,” Gilly said, “Jon may not be a politician,” Gilly smiled, “But he is a good man, and we could use more good men on the magistrate’s bench.”

The door to the parlor opened and the men rejoined them. Sansa looked at Jon and smiled at him, but his eyes looked troubled. He gave her a half smile in return. She wondered what it could be that had turned his face so ashen.


	30. The Heir of Winterfell (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have gotten carried away a little with the fluff in this chapter. I promise Jon and Sansa are going to be having some serious discussions about certain unsaid things soon. Thank you all for reading for your lovely comments!
> 
> Also, I originally plotted this story back before this whole pandemic hit, and so I have debated long and hard about whether to keep the original plot or change it up some, but decided that since death and disease were a very real part of peoples lives during this period I decided to keep the plot as it was. I hope it is not too disturbing in light of recent events. I'm not sure scarlet fever was actually called Scarlet Fever in Scotland during this period, but I hope you can bare with me on any error of fact in that regard.

_Scarlet fever_ … Sam had said the words and Jon knew the fear that accompanied them. A county over, an epidemic of scarlet fever had broken out and Jon knew, as well Sam, how easily such an illness spread and how very deadly it could be. Jon was not sure how to tell Sansa and so he had escaped with Sam after breakfast. Her mother, brother and sister had died of scarlet fever. He remembered when he had met Ned Stark, not long after the death of his heir, he had told Jon of the last days of his wife and children, having only been left with his sweet Sansa. Jon could not be sure, but he believed he may have developed a tenderness for Sansa that very day long before he ever knew her or thought to marry her.

“You did not tell her?” Sam said accusatorily on their way out of the castle, making their way toward the fields.

“I’ll tell her tonight, I want to be able to be there for her,” Jon said, though he feared it was more that he did not know what to say.

“Mhmm,” Sam mumbled.

“What?”

“Jon I have to tell you something…”

“What else do you have to tell me?” Jon asked.

“I told Sansa about Ygritte,” The words tumbled out of Sam’s mouth in hasty confession.

“What did you tell her?”

“Only that there was a woman named Ygritte…” Sam said.

Jon sighed, “She has not said anything…”

“I reckon she is afraid…”

“Shite, Sam, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Jon raked a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know, I guess I imagined you would have told her on your own by now,” Sam retorted, “You’ve not said anything of her?”

“Not exactly,” Jon said, thinking of how he had stated very simply to her that there had been someone else… once… but he did not think that counted as telling her of Ygritte. He had not elaborated, and she had not asked.

“Good god, Jon, do you tell that poor woman anything?” Sam scolded.

Jon frowned at his friend, “I had not meant to keep it from her, only… it’s not an easy thing to speak of.”

“You loved her,” Sam said simply.

Jon looked away and whistled for Ghost when the big dog started to wander, it would do no good for him to sire another litter of pups, “Aye, I did once.”

“But no longer?” Sam pressed.

“I remember her fondly,” Jon said, “I remember a pair of laughing green eyes that made me smile when I thought I did not know how.”

Sam looked rather sad.

“I was wrong to love her,” Jon confessed, “And perhaps I was wrong to leave her too… and I guess sometimes there are no right choices, and we simply have to live with the consequences of all the wrong choices we’ve made.”

Sam waited for him to continue.

“I have never quite been able to conquer the feeling that its my fault that she died,” Jon said, feeling the heavy weight of responsibility that he often felt pressing against his shoulders.

“It’s not your fault…” Sam tried to assure.

“No, perhaps not but it feels like it is…” Jon kicked a rock, sending it careening down the hillside, “Had I been older and more sure of my place in the world, I would never have allowed myself to feel such an inclination, it was irresponsible…”

“But love is not wrong…” Sam, ever the romantic, said.

“No,” Jon smiled, “But I fear sometimes that the only reason I loved her, was because she was the first person to ever love me… to ever want me for me.”

“I know Viserys was cruel, but your Aunt Dany…?”

“Dany was too preoccupied with plotting her own escape from Viserys to much care what happened to me,” Jon said, “Neither took much interest in my comings and goings at all until I became the heir of Winterfell. Once I was the heir to some means, then they cared about my future.”

“And Ygritte, she did not care if you were the heir of Winterfell or not?” Sam continued, and Jon looked out on the horizon, not particularly wanting to revisit his past.

“Who is to know?” Jon said, “I asked her once, and she said that we could live in cave for all she cared, that she just wanted me. She always knew what I was, and how it was like to end, but she chose not to see, just as I did. We both were young and foolish.”

Sam put and hand on Jon’s arm and stopped. The two old friends looked at each other before Sam said, “And you’d be foolish again not tell Sansa these things.”

* * *

Jon stood at the gate, watching Sansa as she chatted and laughed with some of their field hands. She discreetly gave a basket of food and dried herbs to Pyp. He knew Pyp’s mother was ailing, and he had two little sisters to feed. Jon could also see a few ribbons in the basket, no doubt sent so the little girls would have something pretty for their hair. Jon’s heart clenched at her generosity and her thoughtfulness. She was kind to their people, not because it was her duty, but because she cared for them. When she had been young and alone in the world, she had had no one to care for her. Jon wanted to care for her in all the ways she had been denied. Watching as she laughed with Podrick before bidding them farewell, Jon wondered what is was Podrick did and said that could bring those smiles so easily to her face. Sansa looked up at him then and gave him what he could only classify as a tender smile, the type she sometimes gave him in bed when they woke together with their limbs entangled. It was differed than the smiles she gave Podrick. She tucked some hair behind her ear and kept her eyes on him as he approached her.

“Walk with me?” Jon invited, holding his hand out to her.

With that same sweet, tender smile she took his hand.

Quietly, they walked out into the pastures. Evening was growing near and the sun would be setting soon. Ghost trailed beside them, and occasionally Jon would squeeze Sansa’s hand so that she would look up at him.

“I think you ought to show me these fairy pools,” He said, putting off the inevitable of having to tell her that they may face an outbreak of the same illness that killed the majority of her family.

“I don’t know if I could find them again,” Sansa said softly.

“We can search them out together,” Jon said, giving her hand a little tug. They fell into silence once more, before Jon chuckled, “I’ll race you to that boulder!”

Sansa laughed, “Tisn’t fair, I’m hampered by all these bloody skirts.”

Jon threw back his head and laughed, “Well, I suppose we could not have you running naked through the heather,” He teased, delighting in the way her cheeks turned pink, “Go on then, I’ll give ye a ten second head start,”

Laughing, she shook her head and considered him for a moment before dashing off across the pasture. Jon counted aloud before dashing after her. Ten seconds was not enough time, for he quickly caught up to her and he wondered how she would feel if he caught her up in his arms and kissed her breathless. When she tripped, he grabbed her before she fell and pulled her against him.

She looked a little stunned to be in his arms, and they stared at each other.

Jon took a breath, “Have you ever been to Iona?”

“No,” She whispered, her eyes still locked with his.

“It’s a sacred place… Iona,” Jon said softly, “Your eyes are as blue as the waters there.”

“Oh?”

“And whether you be of Christian faith or pagan, you can find yourself in those waters,” said Jon.

Sansa put a hand on his chest, “And… and what do you find in my eyes?”

Though she stammered shyly, the question was a bold one, taking Jon by surprise, “Courage,” he said.

She smiled sweetly and dropped her eyes. Jon kissed her forehead.

“And what do you need courage for?” She asked.

Jon sighed, and took her hand as they continued to walk through the fields, “Sam had some news this morning.”

“I gathered as much,” She said.

Jon sighed again and ran his free hand through his hair.

Sansa squeezed the hand that she was holding, “Tell me.”

“There has been a Scarlet Fever outbreak a county over,” He finally said after a pause, “Now that does not mean we are going to have an outbreak here, but it’s too close for my comfort.”

Sansa looked rattled.

“Sam had word from the doctor that lives there,” Jon explained, “It’s taken two children already.”

“My mother, and… and… Robb, and Arya died of Scarlet fever…” Sansa whispered.

“I know, Leannan,” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, “I don’t want you to be scared.”

“I’m not scared…” Sansa said firmly, “Only sad.”

“Sad?”

“For the mothers and fathers who have lost their babes…”

Jon pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead once more, seeming unable to keep his hands to himself these days. Her sweetness would unravel him… and maybe heal him too.

“Did you and Sam speak of anything else?” Sansa asked.

“Tis all the news he had.”

“He did not try to talk you into being a magistrate?”

“He knows better,” Jon sighed, “I’m not fit to be a politician…”

“A magistrate is not really a politician,” Sansa countered, “You could help people, see justice done.”

“I help our people here,” Jon said, though he felt the excuse sounded weak even to his own ears.

“My father was a magistrate,” Sansa said.

Jon winced; did she expect him to be just like her father? Was he not enough, just as he was?

“I know,” said Jon in response and they lapsed into silence once more.

When they reached the fairy pools the sky was ablaze with oranges and purples, and a few stars were beginning to peek out as the sun was setting. The sun reflecting on the pool made everything glow, including Sansa and her fiery red hair.

“Pod and Mya say this place is enchanted,” Sansa whispered reverently as she ran her hand along mossy rocks.

“Aye,” Jon said as he sat down beside the bank of the pool and tugged her hand, urging her to sit down with him. She sat and shyly leaned her head against his shoulder. Her hesitancy broke his heart, but he was happy that she did despite her fears. He wished she would realize that he desired her touch, that she need not be hesitant with him. He wished that she wanted him, as much as he was growing to want her. He was not sure if it was love yet, but he knew that whatever was between them now was more than companionship. Sansa made his heart lighter, and her presence made this life more bearable. This gentle friendship was not exactly how he pictured marriage, and yet it suited them well, and Jon knew if they would let themselves… they could love each other.

“You…” Jon started, not sure what he was trying to say, “You…”

“Yes?”

“You grow more precious to me every day, Leannan.”

She sat up and looked at him, there was a surprising amount of alarm in her eyes.

“Was that wrong to say?” Jon asked, suddenly feeling hesitant himself.

“No,” she said softly, and settled her head back against his shoulder, and giggled, “Cook says you are trying to woo me.”

Jon laughed and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “Cook is a very perceptive woman, and she knows me well.”

“Are you?” Sansa asked in a whisper, not moving, her head still resting on his shoulder as they watched the waters reflecting the setting sun.

Chuckling nervously, Jon kissed the top of her head, “Am I what?”

“Trying to woo me?”

Jon laced their fingers together, “Isn't a husband allowed to woo his wife?”

She did not answer.

Jon knew he was being evasive, but he did not rightly know what he was about when it came to her. He wanted her to be happy, and he wanted to be the one to make her happy. Perhaps, he was trying to woo her? Jon wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close and kissed her breathless as he had wanted to in the pasture. He had had her only last night, and yet he wanted her again… wanted to feel her softness under him, and around him… wanted to hear her sigh and moan as she ran her fingers through his hair. He began to bear her down into the cool grass, surrounded by highland wildflowers, as the sun was nearly set and darkness surrounded the fairy pool.

She looked up at him, a little perturbed, “Jon…”

“Yes?”

“We’re out in the open…” She said as if that was a deterrent.

“Isn’t anyone here but us and the fairy,” Jon smiled and stroked her cheek, “Do you think if we made a babe here that she would definitely come out with beautiful red hair just like yours?”

Sansa giggled, and averted her eyes, “You want me to give you a fairy babe?”

“Aye, a little girl with hair and eyes like yours,” Jon kissed her nose, as he worked his hand lower on her body.

“You want a girl?” She asked softly, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek.

“Of course,” He assured, the question breaking his heart a bit. Slowly, he began to lift her skirts, watching her eyes for signs of alarm, “Three or four girls and three or four boys.”

Sansa blushed bright red, and Jon hoped he had not alarmed her. Their eyes met and she smiled sweetly at him, “Just how many babes are you expecting?”

Jon kissed her, moving his hand beneath her skirts to stroke her between her legs, “I’ll take as many as you’d like to give me. I’d love them all, boy or girl.”

Sansa moaned softly, as his hand continued to work. He dropped his forehead to rest against hers. She was panting.

“As long as they come one at a time,” she giggled breathlessly, her fingers clutching his shoulder.

Jon smiled and kissed her forehead before shifted her beneath him, “Aye, one at a time.”


	31. Broken People (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all the progress they have made, Sansa and Jon are still quite broken people. 
> 
> I'm a little insecure with how this chapter turned out, but I hope everyone enjoys anyway! Thank you everyone for your enthusiasm and love for this story, you all make me so excited to write!

Sansa cuddled the little white and grey wolf pup in her lap as Marya knitted and they waited for their bread to rise. Jon had been in town all day arranging a business trip to Inverness that he needed to leave on tomorrow. He would be gone for a few days, maybe a week, and so he had encouraged her to make visits so that she would not be so alone. Having grown weary of the house today, Sansa had ventured out to see Marya. They had started to make bread together and were now waiting for the dough to rise. Sansa had never made bread before, and she wished Jon were here so that he might have a chance to taste it. He always seemed pleased with her new discoveries. Over the last week, Jon had seemed rather different toward her, even more attentive than usual, and she was not sure what to make of it. A fanciful part of her wanted to believe that he was falling in love with her, but she knew better than to believe such childish notions.

“Davos and Jon were speaking this morning before they went to town, and I heard them say that the Scarlet Fever epidemic has worsened in the next county,” Marya said calmly.

Sansa took a breath, and kissed the top of the pup’s head, “Jon told me the same this morning.”

“Illnesses such as these rarely stay in one place,” Marya said with a sad sigh.

“My mother, brother and sister died of Scarlet Fever,” Sansa confessed.

“I had heard rumors that they had,” Marya reached over and squeezed her hand.

“I wish they were here,” Sansa said, “But…”

“But?”

“My life here with Jon would not be if they had lived,” Sansa whispered, “I don’t know how to reconcile my desire for my family, and my happiness here with Jon.”

“The world is strangely unfair,” Marya said, “Tis cruel indeed that you cannot have both your family and Jon.”

“It’s strange to think, that if my family had lived, I may have never known Jon,” The thought made Sansa surprisingly sad.

“He’s made you happy here,” Marya smiled and touched Sansa’s cheek, “Do not begrudge yourself that happiness over things you cannot change, my dear, for no amount of guilt in that happiness will bring your loved ones back.”

“I like to imagine sometimes that father would have made a match of me and Jon had he lived,” Sansa said, and blushed at how utterly girlish her words sounded, “At least I would have known that he had made some arrangement for me to be truly cared for…”

“Who’s to know that it was not his intention?” Marya asked.

“I was only a child when he left, I hardly think he had considered my marriage,” Sansa did not say that she knew such thing, seeing as he had not left her a dowry for her future marriage. Perhaps her father wanted to believe she would be a child forever? Or perhaps he had simply been preoccupied with more important things, and had naively trusted his childhood friend, Robert Baratheon, to care for his child while he was at war? Sansa did not know and so she tried not dwell on questions she did not have answers too.

“Well, whatever happened in the past, you are here now,” Marya gave her a motherly smile, “Jon will look after you.”

Sansa smiled to herself, thinking of their loving by the fairy pools last week. She had been rather shy, though she was often shy in their loving. Jon had been gentle, as he always was with her. Sometimes she marveled at how a man of such strength could touch her so softly. Even when he grew more urgent near his end, his hands held only tenderness for her. By the time they had finished, Sansa had been a bit wobbly on her legs, and Jon had pulled her up from the ground with a rather satisfied grin upon his face that had only made her blush more. She put her hand to her belly and hoped that they made a babe that night.

“Marya….” Sansa started nervously, looking down at the sweet pup in her lap to avoid looking at Marya, “How… how does… how does a woman know if she is with child?”

Marya beamed at her, “Have you reason to suspect?”

“I don’t know what to suspect at all,” Sansa confessed, and she did not add that she was equally frightened as she was hopeful.

Marya gave her that tender, motherly smile once more, “Come, lets go check on our bread and we will discuss it.”

* * *

Sansa had stayed to supper with Marya and began her trek home after their meal in the evening, waning sun. In her basket, wrapped in a cloth, was a small loaf of fresh bread baked under Marya’s instruction. Sansa wanted Jon to taste it and she wondered if he was home yet. She was not sure how she felt about being left alone at Winterfell tomorrow, though he promised it would only be for a few days. She was not accustomed to being left to her own devices so often. The Baratheon’s and the Baelish’s had always kept a close and restrictive eye on her. Life was different with Jon, and different than she imagined marriage. There was as much freedom in their relationship as there was closeness. He seemed to trust her, and she thought, perhaps, she was coming to trust him too.

When she arrived at the castle, she was greeted by Ghost and she went to the quiet kitchen and found Cook assembling a collection of food in a basket.

“Lord have mercy, ma’am,” Cook exclaimed, “You gave me a fright.”

“I’m sorry, Cook,” Sansa gave her a friendly smile, “I thought I gave you the evening off?”

“I could not very well leave for the night without packing Jon a lunch for his ride to Inverness,” Cook grumbled, “That boy would forget to eat and waste away if I did not remind him.”

Sansa smiled. Jon was well loved by his people and Sansa believed that spoke volumes about his character. Sansa retrieved a plate and took her loaf of bread out of her basket.

“What be that?” Cook asked, almost accusatorially.

“It’s bread,” Sansa frowned, looking at her loaf. It was not as nice and shapely as Marya’s loaf had turned out, but she had tasted it and it was still quite good.

“What ye be doing with bread that is not my own?” Cook scowled as she put her hands on her hips and glared at Sansa.

Sansa had to stifle a smile, “I made it.”

“You made it?”

“Aye, I made it,” Sansa said feeling quite proud, even if it was a little silly of her to be making bread when Jon employed a fine cook and kitchen staff so that she did not have too. There was something about these little pursuits like baking and fishing and working with the sheep that made Sansa feel not quite so invisible in the world.

“You made it?” Cook was still scowling, “Are ye trying to put me out of a job?”

Sansa chuckled, “No, of course not!” She assured, “Marya Seaworth was making bread and so she taught me, just like the time you taught me to make scones.”

Cook huffed and went back to packing Jon’s meal for the morrow, “My teaching ye to make scones is a far cry different than Marya Seaworth trying to teach ye to make bread.”

Sansa tried not to laugh, “How so?”  
“You never mind how so,” Cook insisted, “It just doesn’t seem fittin’ is all, what with you being a great lady.”

Sansa looked away and cut a couple slices of her bread and put it on a plate, “I’m not a great lady…”

Cook gave her what could only be described as disdainful look of unbelief, “Ye are the Lady of Winterfell, like your mother a’fore ye, one of the most nobled ladies in the county, whether ye want to believe it or not… I keep trying to tell Jon, that he should not be letting us small folk call him Jon, that he’s the Lord of Winterfell, and all he does is laugh and say he can’t take to being called Lord Snow.”

Sansa grinned.

“TIsn’t fittin…” Cook huffed in conclusion.

“Well, I’ll do my best to act a better lady for you, Cook,” Sansa smiled and kissed the old lady on the cheek. Cook only let out a disgruntled sigh. “Where’s the strawberry jam?”

“What will you be doing with the strawberry jam? Jon likes that on his bread in the mornings,” Cook said.

“I know, I want to take some up with me, so he’ll have some with my bread.”

“Tis a blessing you were born a lady able to have a cook if that is all you plan to feed a grown man for supper,” Cook scolded.

“He’s having supper at the inn in town with Davos,” Sansa explained as she retrieved the jam from where Cook had pointed, “I only want him to taste it.”

Cook rolled her eyes, “The two of you and your courtin’ and your wooin’…. Could make a body ill…”

Sansa blushed, and Cook only shook her head in disapproval.

“Feeding him bread and jam is courtin’ and wooin’?” Sansa giggled.

“It is when your face turns all pink as ye are thinking on him coming home to taste your vittles,” Cook retorted, with another disapproving shake of her head.

Sansa gathered up her supplies, “Goodnight, Cook, don’t stay up too late.”

Cook made another disgruntled sound, and Sansa left the kitchen with an amused shake of her head.

* * *

Sitting in bed, Sansa read a book waiting for Jon to come home. She wanted to see him tonight as he was leaving so early in the morning for Inverness that she was likely not to be awake. Yawning, she reached down and scratched Ghost behind the ears, and he snuggled closer to her.

“Your father will be home soon,” She crooned at the big white wolf, and as if on cue she heard Jon’s bedroom door open and close. Smiling to herself, Sansa lay down on the bed and waited, watching the study door for her husband. After a few minutes, the door to their shared study opened slowly as if he feared she might already be asleep. He poked his head inside the room and smiled when he saw that she was awake and waiting for him. Stripping himself of his shirt, he approached the bed.

“Hello sweet wife,” He greeted, and gave Ghost a gentle shove so that he could get in bed beside her. When he lay down, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“Hello,” Sansa whispered, her eyes fluttering close as she relished his tender touch. Reaching up, she stroked his cheek, “Do you really think me sweet?” It had been many years since she had felt tender of heart enough, to consider herself sweet.

Jon brushed his fingers against her cheek, “Aye, I do, the sweetest.”

Sansa smiled, and feeling brave, she leaned in and gently pressed her lips to his. It was a soft kiss, not like the all consuming ones they shared by the fairy pools, but Sansa felt she was still learning how to kiss him properly and he did not seem to mind her shyness as she explored. He kissed her in return with equal softness.

“Did you have a good day?” He asked.

“Yes,” Sansa replied, “I baked bread with Marya.”

He grinned at her, “Did you?”

“Yes,” She replied, feeling somewhat childish in her desire for his approval but wanting it nonetheless, “I brought you some… if… if you want to taste it…”

“May I have it now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sansa nodded toward the bedside table where she had placed the plate of bread and jam. He looked over at it.

“You even brought my favorite jam, did Cook tell you?” He asked, as he set up and retrieved the plate.

Sansa nodded, not quite willing to admit to the fact that she had known it was his favorite, just as she knew how he took his tea in the mornings.

“Read to me?” He asked, sounding like a little boy with his mouthful of bread and jam.

“Alright,” Sansa said with smile and she slowly and somewhat hesitantly drew closer to him, wanting to curl up against his side but unsure if he would welcome it. Surely, he did not want her constantly clinging to him, did he? She had not realized how much she would enjoy having his arms around her. Seeming to sense her dilemma, Jon wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side.

“There we are,” Jon grinned and took another bite, “Right where you belong.”

Sansa blushed at that and picked up her book and read to him.

* * *

Sometime in the night, Sansa woke to find his body curled around hers, her back to his chest. He was kissing her neck with feather soft kisses.

“Jon?” Sansa whispered sleepily.

“I’m here,” He replied.

“What are you doing?”

“Wishing I did not have to go,” Jon confessed, as he pressed another kiss to her neck and nuzzled her hairline.

“Me… me too,” Sansa confessed, in the darkness it was easier to say such things, “But you said it would only be for a few days.”

“Yes,” Jon nipped at her ear, “But I have found that having you here, makes it even harder to leave.”

Sansa smiled at that but did not know what to say.

“I’ve grown accustom to sleeping beside you, Leannan,” Jon’s hand ran down her side and began to massage her hip.

“When do you have to leave?” Sansa asked.

“Won’t be long now,” said Jon, as he pulled her against him more tightly.

Sansa had half a mind to tell him to have her before he left, but she was not quite brave enough to initiate their intimacies… yet. Instead she laced her fingers with his and held his hand tight. When she took his hand and placed it on her breast, he seemed to understand without her saying. He began to pull up her nightgown. She was confused, however, when he did not guide her onto her back.

“Jon…?” Sansa tried to look at him over her shoulder, unsure how she felt about him being behind her, but he continued to lavish kisses on her neck which caused goosebumps to erupt across her skin.

“Is this alright, Leannan?” He whispered gruffly against her neck, as his hand found its place between her legs, “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Sansa nodded and settled back into his arms, as her heart began to beat more rapidly. He mouthed at her neck and stroked her breasts, and her belly and between her legs until she felt like she was melting back into him. His arms tightened around her.

“I’ll miss you while I’m away,” He whispered, as he rocked his hips against her bottom drawing a moan from her, “Will you miss me?”

The question was a straightforward one and she could hear a certain amount of vulnerability in his voice, and though she feared revealing to much of her heart, she nodded. He let out a breath against her neck, that sounded like he had been holding. Did he think she did not care for him, the way he cared for her?

“I’ll miss you, Jon,” She whispered, and it was true. She would miss him… she would miss his kindness, and the way he smiled, and the way he talked to her like she was clever, and not some ornament to place upon a shelf.

She could feel him nod against hair. He rocked his hips against her again and she could feel his desire for her. Though he would only be gone a few days, a week at most, she imagined she might miss this too. Behind her, she could feel him shuffling out of his breeches. She could feel herself trembling as he curled around her once more.

“May I have you, love?” He whispered in her ear.

There was _that_ word again… Sansa felt herself stiffen, and she wanted to plead with him not to say things he did not mean… her heart could not bear it.

“What is it?” He stilled behind her, and held her close, seeming to sense her reticence.

“Nothing,” She whispered.

He nodded, and then to her dismay, he made no move to continue. He merely kissed her hair and held her, and Sansa was wondering what it was that she did wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Sansa learns some information while Jon is away


	32. Unwelcome Guests (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect, I think this chapter would have been better as part of the previous one, but alas here it is on its own. I hope everyone enjoys it anyway!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments!

A soft kiss on her forehead, caused Sansa’s eyes to flutter open. The room was still quite dark, but Jon was no longer abed with her.

“Shhhh,” Jon whispered to her, stroking a finger across her cheek, “Do not wake…”

“Jon…” Sansa murmured.

“I have to go,” Jon said softly. In her sleepy haze, she heard him call for Ghost, who got in bed and snuggled up with her.

Sansa reached out and took Jon’s hand, “It’s already time?”

“Yes,” Jon said giving her hand a squeeze.

“I’m cold,” Sansa whispered in a sleepy voice, and smiled gently when he tucked her blanket tight around her, “A blanket is a poor substitute,” Sansa murmured.

“Is it?” She heard Jon softly chuckle, both still whispering as if they might break the fragile morning with regular voices.

“I’d rather have you here,” Sansa said, and did not know if it was her sleepy mind or the genuine sense that she would miss him that lowered her inhibitions. Suddenly his arms encircled her, and she felt herself being lifted slightly from the bed, and he hugged her. Feeling tears sting her eyes, she wound her arms around his neck and hugged him back.

“I best go,” Jon said against her hair, “The faster I get there, the faster I will return.”

Sansa nodded, and hugged him tighter for a moment, before he tucked her back into bed beside Ghost, and disappeared.

* * *

Reviewing the household ledgers, a day after Jon had left, Sansa sat in the study with Ghost beside her. The big castle had felt rather empty and so yesterday she had spent most of the day with Gilly. Today, though, she had business to attend to and she would not be negligent in her duties. She sat in Jon’s big chair pouring over numbers until she thought her eyes might cross, before determining that she needed to make allotments for Cook’s weekly excursions to the market. She needed to retrieve Cook’s list, so that she knew how much money she needed to set aside. A knock came to the door rousing Sansa from her thoughts.

“Enter!” She called out.

A maid opened the door and gave her a little curtsy, “Mr. Ramsey Bolton to see you ma’am.”   
Sansa felt her stomach drop. Jon was not home, what could Ramsey want with her? Did he know Jon was not home? She swallowed hard. Jon would not like Bolton being here, especially with him gone.

“Thank you,” Sansa stood, “I will greet him in the parlor,” she called for Ghost to follow her, and then had a thought to wait and so halted the maid, “Please send for Davos, and if Davos cannot be found, find one of the field hands, in the event that I need Mr. Bolton escorted out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” The maid curtsied again and scurried off to do her bidding. Sansa wished Tormund were here, the giant red-haired man dwarfed Ramsey Bolton and made quite an intimidating figure. Tormund, however, had gone with Jon to attend the horses. Sitting back down, Sansa finished her books, making Ramsey wait, before deciding she needed to go downstairs. She hoped she had bought herself enough time for Davos to be sent for.

“Come, Ghost, I shall need you beside me,” Sansa told the wolf, and Ghost trotted beside her as she made her way down the stairs and to the door of the parlor.

Ramsey stood twirling his hat in the middle of the parlor, staring at the large portraits of Sansa’s ancestor’s that hung upon the wall.

“Mr. Bolton,” Sansa greeted, maintaining her distance.

“Ah, Lady Snow,” He leered at her, “I’m happy to find you at home, I had heard that Lord Snow was away and I was afraid you might have been with him.”

Sansa felt genuine fear at his words, but she straightened her spine and held her head high, “What brings you up to Winterfell?”

“No offers of tea and cake?” Ramsey laughed mockingly.

“I’m afraid not, I have much business to attend to today, and have not the time for unexpected social calls,” Sansa informed him.

Briefly, he looked annoyed by her words, but he quickly hid it. He stepped closer to her, and she took a step back, and Ghost bared his teeth at the man.

Ramsey sneered, “I see Lord Snow did not take his beast with him.”

“Ghost keeps me company,” Sansa said, patting the giant wolf on the head.

“I would not trust such a vicious creature around children or tenants, wolves are not pets,” Ramsey said as he took another step toward Sansa and Ghost growled again. Sansa saw Ramsey swallow.

“Oh,” Sansa started feigning innocence, “Do you not keep hounds yourself, Mr. Bolton?”

“Hunting hounds are quite different from wolves,” Ramsey chuckled, “I wonder how it is you trust the beast not to attack you in the middle of the night.”

“I think he knows friend from foe,” Sansa said, drawing Ghost closer to her. Ramsey stared at her for a moment and Sansa could detect the irritation in his eyes, and she did her best to hide her fear. She did not know his intention for coming here when he knew very well that Jon was not home, but she did not like him being here.

He cleared his throat, “As you may know, we, that is my father and I, are enclosing Bolton land,” Ramsey started.

“I had heard,” said Sansa coolly.

“Then you may have also heard that the Frey’s are also enclosing their land,” Ramsey said. Sansa had not heard that, “I just wanted to make yourself and Lord Snow apprised of the situation so as to ensure none of your tenants are caught trespassing as the Frey land borders your own.”

“Are you threatening our small folk?” Sansa asked, as she drew a little closer to Ghost.

Ramsey chuckled maliciously, “Just a word of neighborly advice,” He turned to leave, “My father may be up for magistrate soon, and so I’d hate to see Winterfell on the wrong side of the legal authorities.”

“And why would Winterfell be on the wrong side of the law?” asked Sansa, taking a step back when he stepped toward her once more.

Ramsey chuckled, looking back at her, “The Starks are no longer, lassie, and have not been for some time, and you’d be wise to remember that.”

“Good day, Mr. Bolton,” Sansa said coldly just as Davos arrived, and Ramsey leered at her before tipping his hat to Davos and making his way out. Shuddering, Sansa turned to Davos and took a breath.

“I came as quick as I heard he was here,” Davos said putting a hand on her arm. Sansa looked up and saw Podrick and Grenn in the hallway waiting for Davos, with anxious eyes.

She smiled, sighing a breath of relief, “It was only a few moments, I kept him waiting for some time.”

“What did he want?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Sansa said, “He said that they and the Frey’s are enclosing their land, and wanted to make sure we were aware so that our tenants knew not to trespass, and he also mentioned that his father may be magistrate.”

“Heaven help us all if a Bolton sits on the magistrate’s bench,” said Grenn.

Sansa thought of Sam’s words to Jon. Her husband would make a good magistrate and a good leader of men, if he could see past his sense that this life was somehow on loan to him. She would discuss it with him when he returned.

“Davos, can you please let the staff know, not to allow admittance to Ramsey Bolton when Jon is not home?” Sansa said.

“Aye, I will tell them at once.”

Sansa nodded, and smiled at Grenn and Pod, “How are our sweet lambs?”

“Growing like weeds, ma’am,” Grenn laughed.

“I reckon Jon’ll fetch a fair price for most of ‘em in town, they are sturdy stock this time around,” said Podrick, as if he were a proud father, which made Sansa chuckle.

* * *

The castle seemed empty without Jon and she was finding she did not like being alone here. She watched as one of the maids began to put out candles. The staff would soon be going to bed or going home. Being alone left her far too much time to think on her childhood days spent in this castle with her family… a precious childhood snatched from her far too soon. Sansa drew the curtains in the parlor and thought she might see if Cook had any cake left from dinner.

“Come Ghost,” Sansa summoned the wolf who had rarely left her side since Jon was gone. The old beast seemed to take his duties to his master’s lady very seriously. She entered the kitchen and Cook huffed at her.

“The wolf best stay out of my kitchen if he knows what’s best for him,” Cook grumbled and Ghost perked his ears up, and stared at the older lady. Sansa chuckled.

“Ghost wait,” Sansa commanded, and the dog sat down in the doorway.

“And what need ye, mistress, this late in the evening?” Cook asked, her wispy, red-grey hair peeking out from under her bonnet.

“You needn’t trouble yourself, Cook,” Sansa smiled, “I was just going to see if there was another slice of that lemon cake.”

Cook shook her head in disapproval and nodded toward the cake, covered on a shelf, “With the way you eat that cake, one might think ye were eating for a wee bairn…”

Sansa giggled, though she felt her cheeks blush, “No signs of a bairn yet…” She said, though she knew from what Marya had told her, that it was rather too soon to tell. Sansa retrieved a slice of cake and bid Cook goodnight.

She and Ghost trudged up the stairs, and into the study first to make sure she had put out the candle she had been reading by earlier. Draped across one of the chairs, Sansa saw Jon’s tartan sash and smiled. He had looked rather fetching in his tartan plaid. She ran her fingers along the fabric and then picked it up. It was thick and warm and smelled of Jon, and there was enough of it to wrap herself in it. Wrapping the sash tight around her slight shoulders and blowing out the candle, Sansa retired to her room and sat down on her side of the bed. She was not sure she was ready to admit, even to herself that she missed Jon. His smiles and his kindness and his sincerity were slowly trying to take up residence in her heart and she did not know whether to trust her heart. She took a bite of cake and curled up on the bed, calling for Ghost to join her. Putting her hand on her flat belly, she prayed that a babe was already growing inside her. Though the thought frightened her some, she wanted to give Jon a babe.

* * *

Myranda poured Sansa some tea, as they sat together in the Royce’s parlor.

“I think you miss him more than you let on,” Randa chuckled as she sat down beside Sansa.

Sansa took a sip of her tea, “I do miss him, that big castle is rather empty up there all alone.”

Randa grinned, “When’s he due back?”

“In a few days,” Sansa replied, “He did not plan to be gone long.”

“I do not think I could wed someone so solemn,” Randa said with a shake of her head.

“He’s not so very solemn as he seems,” Sansa smiled as she took another sip of her tea.

“My late husband had a great, big boisterous laugh,” Myranda said, “He was twice my age…”

“Did you ever come to care for him?” Sansa asked, curiously.

“Oh, in a way,” Randa giggled, “I did not care for his manner of dying, but he was a nice sort, and wealthy.”

Sansa sighed, she supposed that was what most marriages were resigned too… casual acceptance and monetary comfort.

“Though, if ever I should wed again, I will marry to suit my own self and no one else,” Randa declared quite passionately.

“Does anyone ever truly wed to suit themselves?” Sansa asked. Marriage was a contractual agreement, it always had been, why was it necessary to make it something that it was not?

“For being so happily wed, you are rather cynical,” Randa retorted with her own boisterous laugh.

Sansa looked up at Randa. Was she happily wed? The thought had not occurred to her, but she supposed she was happier than she had been in a very long time.

“Jon’s a good man,” Sansa said, “I should be happy with him, but we are still rather strange to each other I think.”

“I should think Jon is rather difficult to get to know, he’s a rather taciturn fellow,” Randa wrinkled her nose.

“I suppose I am not the easiest to know either,” Sansa confessed.

“Men do all their speaking when they are between a woman’s legs,” Randa said flatly.

Sansa nearly spit out her tea, and Randa laughed heartily.

“You are blushing so bright one would think you did not know a thing about the marriage bed,” said Randa, “A woman wed as long as you should know at least a little.”

Sansa chuckled nervously, “A wee bit I suppose, but I have not been wed over long.”

“And is Jon as taciturn in bed, as he is at balls?” Randa teased.

Sansa supposed Jon was rather quiet, though he did occasionally mutter sweet things to her when they lay together. She was not going to tell Randa that though, “Its hardly proper to speak of such things.”

Randa only tossed her hair and grinned, “Jon is absolutely no fun at balls.”

Sansa looked down into her tea feeling her cheeks heat, and Randa giggled again.

“Keep your secrets then.”

A knock on the parlor door, interrupted the two women’s giggles. They both looked up to find a maid in the doorway.

“Miss Jeyne Poole to say you, ma’am,” said the maid.

“Bring her in, I suppose,” said Randa with a disapproving grunt toward Sansa, “My apologies, I had hoped our tea would be a private affair.”

“It’s alright, Randa,” Sansa said, “Perhaps now you will behave yourself.”

“Well, I suppose I must with maiden ears about.”

A few moments later, the maid ushered Jeyne Poole into the parlor to join them.

“Ah, Lady Sansa, I did not expect to find you here!” Jeyne smiled and greeted them both politely.

“Jon is out of town, and so I thought I might return my social calls, and Randa was kind enough to invite me up for tea,” Sansa explained as they all resumed their seats after exchanging their courtesies.

“Well, I shan’t disturb the two of you for long,” Jeyne chuckled and patted her hand, “I only came up to retrieve an embroidery pattern from Randa…”

“Oh, yes, I had forgotten you had asked for it,” Randa quickly stood and went to rifling through a box in the corner of the parlor.

“Have you heard the Scarlet Fever has spread, people are quite afeard that there will be an outbreak here, especially with the squalid living conditions of most our tenants hereabouts,” Jeyne said callously.

“Scarlet fever is not a respecter of station,” Sansa snapped.

“Oh, yes, I do apologize my dear,” Jeyne patted her hand condescendingly, “I had forgotten about your family.”

“How do you know of my family?” Sansa demanded. Jeyne was certainly to young to remember such a thing. 

“I make it my business to know things,” Jeyne said with a toss of her curls. Randa and Sansa exchanged looks, “Besides, I actually had it from Ramsey, who had it from your Uncle.”

“My Uncle?” Sansa asked in alarm, “What does Ramsey have to do with my Uncle?”

“They have business dealings,” Randa said, “I do believe he’s coming to visit the Bolton’s soon and bringing his family.”

“My Uncle Petyr and Aunt Lysa are coming here?” Sansa felt her stomach drop.

“Why yes,” Jeyne said, oblivious, “I figured you knew as you are family after all, unless of course the strange circumstances surrounding your marriage to Jon has tainted the relation.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked, feeling something in her gut clench and feel sick.

“I know large sums of money exchanged between relatives can on occasion make things awkward.”

“What large sums of money?” Sansa pressed, feeling a strange fear grip her.

“Here’s the pattern Jeyne,” Randa interjected seeming to sense Sansa’s unease, but Jeyne did not seem able to bite her tongue.

“Why silly me, I really should learn to hold me tongue,” Jeyne giggled, “I thought it was a known arrangement between the three of you, I figured you knew that Jon Snow had paid an exorbitant sum to Petyr Baelish in order to secure your hand in marriage.”

Sansa tried to remain calm, as her mind reeled. Surely, Jeyne was misinformed. Why would Jon pay money to Baelish for her hand? If such an absurd notion were true, Jon would have told her. He was quite private, but he did not seem like one to keep secrets... but then... he had not told her of Ygritte, had he? Had he truly bought her from her Uncle and to what end?

“I’m… I’m sorry Randa,” Sansa stood suddenly, not sure what to think or say, “I’m afraid I’m feeling suddenly ill, I do apologize but I think I need to go home.”

“Oh, no,” Randa stood, “Allow me to call a carriage round to take you home.”

“No, no,” Sansa refused, making her way to the door more quickly than was polite, “I think I need the fresh air in my face.”

“Will you be alright?” Randa asked in concern.

“Yes, yes, I’m… I’ll be fine,” Sansa stammered and then fled. _Jon Snow had paid an exorbitant sum to Petyr Baelish to secure your hand_ … Jeyne’s words echoed in her ears, and she tried to make sense of them. Surely this was another of Baelish’s lies, or perhaps even Bolton’s lies… to what end she did not know. She did know, however, that her Uncle was not above such vile lies meant to hurt her. She had had suspicions that Petyr had helped Harry spread the rumors of her tainted virtue, in order to keep her. Petyr had always looked at her with lust in his eyes. Sansa shivered at the memory. Jon would not have kept such a thing a secret from her…. Would he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon comes home


	33. Reunited (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon comes home to a less than warm welcome. This chapter is short, as I'm still trying to decide whose POV to have the confrontation in, but we get a little into Jon's head in this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys!

“She’s fond of the pup,” said Jon as he scratched the little grey and white puppy behind the ears. Davos and Marya chuckled.

“I thought you said that Ghost was beast enough for the both of you,” Marya asked with a knowing grin.

“Aye, he is, but I think Sansa might enjoy having a beast of her own, and then maybe I can have mine back,” Jon laughed, “Ghost and Sansa have got on so well that I find myself rather jealous.”

Davos patted the pup, “Aye, that they have, he’s grown rather protective of his lady.”

“And taking one of them off your hands is the least I can do, considering the old wolf fathered the lot,” Jon said.   
“You had best get on home to your bride then, Jon,” Marya gave him that kind motherly smile of hers, “I’m sure she’s eager to see you.”

“I can only hope,” Jon said, “I’m sure she got along fine without me.”

“I doubt that,” said Marya, “One would have to be blind not to see how the two of you look at each other.”

Jon raked a hand through his hair and felt his cheeks heat. He had grown more than fond of Sansa, but he was rather certain that his feelings ran a wee bit deeper than her’s and he did not want to push her for something that she would not welcome. He looked down at the pup. He wanted to make her smile, and perhaps for now that was enough.

“Well, you better get you gone, so you are home in time for supper,” Marya gave him a little shove toward the front door.

Jon laughed, and Davos patted him gruffly on the arm, and began to follow him out.

“I don’t want to rattle ya, lad,” Davos started, and Jon turned to face him.

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, tucking the squirming pup under his arm.

“Ramsey Bolton made a visit to Winterfell while you were away,” Davos said, and Jon felt rage fill him, but Davos put a steadying hand on his arm, “Lady Sansa handled herself quite admirably, but we were all a bit concerned, as it seemed to me like he made his way there, knowing very well that you were not at home.”

Jon was ready to march to the Bolton’s immediately to demand an explanation, but Davos halted him, “No harm was done, lad, I just wanted to tell you, so that you and Lady Sansa might be on your guard. I think the Bolton’s mean you ill.”

That was no surprise to Jon, “They’ve never been friends to Winterfell, even when Sansa’s father was laird.”

“Aye, and they’re not to be trusted, but you should also tread with caution, Roose Bolton may be up for magistrate if no one opposes him,” Davos said, and Jon felt his stomach drop.

“It will be a sad day indeed when we voting men stand aside and let the likes of him take to judging us,” Jon said. Davos gave him an odd look, as he strode over to his horse, eager to be home with his wife, and wishing to save fretting over the Bolton’s for another time.

“Aye, indeed it will be,” said Davos with that same disgruntled look in his face, “Well, you had better get yourself home to your lass before the sun sets, I know she’ll be happy to see ya.”

A smile split Jon’s face, as he kicked his horse into motion and headed home with the little puppy in his arms.

* * *

Any time he traveled, Jon was always happy to return home. Davos often teased him of being old before his time. Jon, however, had rarely experienced an eagerness to see someone upon his return. He missed Sansa, perhaps more than he thought he would and when he spotted her bonnie, red head across the courtyard waiting for him with Cook and Tormund beside her, Jon nearly leapt off his horse. One of their staff took his horse, and Jon strode forward, keeping the pup hidden in his jacket. When he approached, Tormund clapped him on the back.

“Well, lad, I was just telling our lady, about the perils of the road!” Tormund bellowed.

Cook huffed, “You are certainly full of nonsense, Tormund, you and the master did not face any more perils than ye do keeping watch over the horses at night.”

“Ye don’t know a thing about the road, ye bonnie, wee wench,” Tormund guffawed at Cook, and Cook looked ready to slap the man who was twice her size. Jon shook his head and chuckled and brought his eyes to Sansa. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. She curtsied to him.

“My lord,” She greeted coolly, and Jon was taken aback.

“Sansa,” He smiled at her, and reached for her, wanting to hug her and kiss her, but she withdrew from him, causing him to frown.

“I’m sure you’re tired, Cook has prepared your favorite supper,” Sansa said, regal as a queen.

“Aye, thank you,” Jon said, “But first, I have something for you.”

She looked at him, without saying anything, as she used to do when she had first come to Winterfell. Jon longed to see her smile. He pulled the puppy from his beneath his jacket, and the squirming little creature yipped in protest at being carted about like a satchel. For a moment, Jon saw a flicker of warmth cross Sansa’s eyes when she looked down at the pup, but it was gone swiftly when she looked back up at him. Gently, she took the dog from his arms.

“Thank you, my lord,” She said with a stinging politeness, “I’ll take her upstairs and get her settled while you eat your supper.”

Jon looked her over. She was radiant as ever, her hair coiffured up atop her head, and wearing one of her finer dresses. Though she looked the part of the elegant Lady of Winterfell, Jon looked forward to seeing her wild. Jon took her hand, and she looked down at their hands as if he had never done such a thing. He let her hand go.

“I’m sorry,” He muttered, but was completely unsure what he was apologizing for. Ghost nudged him and Jon bent to greet his old friend. The wolf seemed happy to see him at least.

“I’ve had the maids draw you a bath for after your supper,” She said, holding the pup in her arms like it was burden.

"If you're not wanting another dog, I can take her back..." Jon, uncertain, started to offer holding his hands out for the pup. Had he judged wrong? Did she not want the dog? No… something was amiss before he showed her the pup. Would she tell him?

"No," Sansa was quick to say, pulling the pup to her and away from him, "I'm happy to have her, thank you." 

With that she turned from him, and entered the house.

Jon followed her inside with Cook and Tormund verbally sparring behind them. They went up the stairs toward their chambers and stopped in front of Jon’s door. Jon reached for her hand again, but she flinched from him. He frowned.

“Do you want to come in and talk to me while I change?” He asked.

She looked down at the pup, seeming determined not to meet his eyes, “I need to tend to this one and make sure she has a proper bed for the night.”

“Aye, aye,” Jon said, feeling flustered and uncertain. He raked his hand through his hair, “I’ll see you at supper then.”

“I’ve already eaten,” She said coolly.

Jon thought that was rather odd, it was later than they usually took supper, but not so late that he thought she would eat without him, “Then perhaps we can talk while I eat, and then have dessert together?”

“If you wish it,” she said and turned to her own chamber door.

Jon frowned, and watched her disappear.

* * *

During supper, Sansa sat still barely two minutes together, often rising to refill his glass, or help one of the maids, or to disappear into the kitchen for a few minutes, as if she did not want to be left alone with him. The thought pained him. What could have happened in the week that he was gone that would have so changed her toward him? Podrick? No, he banished the thought. Sansa was not that kind of woman no matter how angry she was at him, or how much she cared for their shepherd. Had she realized that she could get on quite well without him, here in her family home? Did she wish him gone? Had he become an inconvenience to her, as he had been to his father, and all his family after? The thought was too painful to dwell on. As she passed by him, he caught her hand and held it steady. She looked down at him.

“Sit,” He said softly, though he feared it sounded more like a command than a request, “Please,” he added.

“If you wish,” she replied, and her words nettled him. What had gotten into her?

“I missed you,” He offered.

“Well, you’re here now,” she said stiffly.

They stared at each other. He stroked her hand, which seemed to make her eyes grow both stormy and unsure.

“Sansa…” He started, not sure what to say and so they continued to stare.

“Mr. Tarly to see you, sir,” The maid announced suddenly, breaking their impasse.

They leapt apart as if they had been caught in a moment of indiscretion and stood to greet their guest. Sam barreled into the dining room, and he and Jon embraced, though Jon did not miss the way Sansa shrank from him.

“Good trip?” Sam asked.

“T’was fine enough, glad to be back though,” Jon replied, and watched with some measure of uncertainty as Sansa began to help the maid clear the supper dishes.

“Sansa has been quite the mistress of Winterfell while you were away,” Sam praised with a beaming smiling, which drew a small smile from Sansa, “But I’m sure she’s glad you are back.”

“Indeed,” Sansa said sharply as she continued fretting over the dishes.

“Come let’s go into the parlor and have a drink,” Jon said, offering his hand to Sansa, so that she might join them.

“I’ll let the two of you go, I have matters to attend,” Sansa said, “And I’m quite tired, so I will retire early.”

Jon nodded tersely and watched her go and disappear into the kitchen. Clearing his throat, and plastering a smile on his face, to pretend all was well, Jon led the way to the parlor

Pouring Sam a drink, the two men stood beside the hearth exchanging friendly courtesies. Sam seemed a little nervous, and when Sam seemed nervous it usually meant he had something to say and wished he did not.

“Out with it, Sam,” Jon encouraged with a chuckle.

“Oh… I…” Sam stammered.

Jon smiled and took a sip from his glass, “We’ve been friends too long, I can see when something is on your mind.”

“I… I just thought you should know that Roose Bolton may be up for magistrate,” Sam said, taking a sip of his whiskey and coughing a bit.

Jon sighed, “I heard.”

“And so, you are going to do something about it?” Sam asked.

“You have far greater faith in my abilities than I,” Jon chuckled ruefully, “What would you have me do?”

“Run for magistrate yourself,” Sam said flatly.

Jon rested his arm on the mantel and looked down into the hearth, “The voting men of this parish do not easily take to outsiders…”

“You’re not an outsider, you’ve lived here for years, and you’re the lord of Winterfell, which has always held more sway here than any other estate…”

“I’m not Stark,” Jon said sadly.

“And does that truly matter?” asked Sam.

“Aye, do you not think it does?” Jon retorted, “These old men have long memories, and most consider me young and feckless.”

“The people respect you!” Sam argued.

“Aye, people without the power to vote,” Jon reminded him, “I’m contented to have the respect of my tenants and employees, I don’t need the empty affirmations from noxious old men, who care more for the lining of their pockets than they do for their people.”

“You could do good here, Jon.”

“And have me be something I’m not?” Jon asked sadly. He was content as he was and had no desire to draw unwanted attention to himself. He wanted to live in peace with Sansa by his side, raise his sheep, and play with his children, should they come.

“I think you give yourself far less credit than you deserve,” Sam said, and Jon smiled.

“Thank you, my friend, but even should I run, I highly doubt I could beat a man as long established in this community as Roose Bolton.”

Sam did not argue, only sighed, and took a heavy swig of his whiskey which set him into a coughing fit. Jon chuckled and patted his back.

After a moment of silence, Sam looked back at Jon his eyes grave.

“The real reason I came up this evening…” Sam started.

Jon sat down in the chair beside the hearth and indicated one for Sam, “So it was not to see your oldest friend?” Jon teased.

Sam chuckled, “Well, yes, but actually I came to discuss the Scarlet Fever.”

Jon felt his stomach drop.

“I feel like it creeps closer by the week,” Sam said gravely.

“Have there been any sick here?” Jon asked, hating the fact that there was a silent killer creeping up on his people and he was powerless to stop it.

“None as of yet,” said Sam, “But I’m afraid, tis only a matter of time.”

Jon nodded, for there was not much else to say. Scarlet Fever had taken the majority of Sansa’s family, and so many others, and it seemed Winterfell was likely to face the sickness once again.

Jon and Sam had another drink and laughed over a few stories before Sam declared he needed to return home. Jon walked him to the door and bid him farewell, before trudging up the stairs like a soldier about to face a tribunal. He and Sansa needed to talk. Going to his room, he quickly bathed in the cool water and threw on his bedclothes. Ghost watched him as if he knew a secret.

“I suppose you know what is on her mind, and you’ve probably taken her side,” Jon told the white wolf. Ghost only turned his head to the side and stared at Jon. Taking a breath, he opened the door to the study, and strode across to Sansa’s door. Ghost was at his heels. Pausing before the door, Jon tried to gather his thoughts. He did not know where to start or what to ask her, and part of him was not sure he wanted to know the truth. What if the truth was that she did not want him, and that she could do quite well on her own? Taking another steadying breath, Jon reached for the knob. The door was locked. Standing still for a moment, Jon did not know what to think. He started to knock but thought better of it. She had never locked the door against him, even in those early days when everything had seemed so uncertain. The door was locked now. Sinking down to the floor in hurt and confusion, Jon sighed and reached for Ghost. Perhaps she did not want him after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Reunited continued (undecided pov)
> 
> Side Note: I have a Master's degree in history, but 19th century Scotland is NOT my specialization. I do not know how the local governments functioned and have not had a lot of time to do proper research, so I hope you can forgive any errors of fact as I muddle through my story, its all for fun after all.


	34. Rent Hearts (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely we are working toward the confrontation. I hope you all can be patient with me as Sansa and Jon are going to be recovering from this for a few chapters. In this chapter, we see a little bit better how Sansa is processing Jeyne's words. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for your lovely comments, you keep me motivated!

Sansa heard his footsteps in the study and then his hand on the door handle. She lay on her bed with her sweet little pup curled up with her and stared at the study door. Sansa did not know what to make of what Jeyne had told her, if it were true, why would Jon keep it from her? Sansa was not sure she wanted to know if it was true or not, if she pretended it was not true then maybe she could pretend Jon was not keeping secrets from her. Perhaps Jeyne had only made up the tale to shame her? She could live with that, people had made up worse stories about her, but if she asked Jon and he confirmed that it was indeed true then he would only be confirming that he had more or less bought her from her uncle and then kept it a secret all these months… and to what end? Sansa felt a keen ache in heart and cursed at herself for letting her guard down. She kissed the puppy on the top of her head and tried to close her eyes, even though she could hear Jon now pacing in the study. He was no fool, he knew something was amiss, but she was not sure she had the courage to confront him yet. They were married now, it was done, so she supposed none of it even mattered now… she resigned herself. All she wanted was to curl up in his arms and let him hold her and have him tell her that Jeyne was a liar.

“Sansa?” Jon called through the door in a loud whisper.

She did not answer.

“Sansa, are you awake?” he called again, he sounded tired and wounded.

The little puppy beside her yipped.

“At least someone is talking to me,” He said with that endearing soft spoken humor of his, “Sansa… love…”

Sansa felt angry tears sting her eyes, “Stop!” she shouted. Why did he insist on calling her that when it was not true?

“Sansa…” Jon pleaded, “Please open the door, if you don’t want me to sleep with you tonight that’s fine, but something is wrong and I want to know what it is…”

Sansa felt her heart sink, “I’m tired, not tonight.”

“Are you ill?” He asked with genuine fear in his voice.

Aye, she was sick… sick at heart, but could she tell him that? She wanted to believe that she could tell him anything, and that he would be a comfort to her as she had endeavored to be a comfort to him. He had been too, she thought sadly holding the pup a little closer, he was the most comfort she had had since she was a small child.

“No, I’m not ill,” Sansa called back, tried to hide the sadness in her voice.

“Leannan,” He said softly, “I just want to see your face, look into your eyes, I… I missed you while I was away.”

Sansa sniffed, and for a moment her heart warmed, “I… I missed you too.”

“Please tell me…” Jon said, “Did something happen while I was away?”

“Not tonight!” Sansa said.

She heard him sigh, “Aye then, not tonight.”

He muttered something that sounded like goodnight in Gaelic and then she heard his solid footsteps trek back across the study and to his own room.

* * *

“I think you’re being a wee touch too sensitive,” said Randa as they walked up the lane together toward the village. Sansa and her puppy had snuck out of the old castle near dawn and met up with Randa for breakfast and now the three of them were headed to see Mya. She did at least have the good sense to leave word with Cook for Jon, so that he did not worry over her whereabouts. The last thing she needed right now was him charging all over the countryside trying to find her.

“Too sensitive?” Sansa queried, calling to the puppy to make sure she kept up.

“Aye, too sensitive,” said Randa, “How do you even know if what that twat Jeyne Poole said is true?”

“I don’t,” Sansa replied, “I trust Jon’s words a far sight more than anything Jeyne could say, but I can’t bare to ask him for fear that he’ll confirm it all.”

“So you are just going to keep locking the door on him at night and eating supper before he comes home, so you can avoid the truth?” Randa asked and when she said it like that it made Sansa feel foolish, “That will make for a long, lonely life and a cold bed.”

Sansa looked down at the ground in front of her as they walked.

“And what if you’re already carrying a bairn inside you,” Randa asked with a mischievous grin, “Are you going to pretend you’re the Holy Virgin, and the wee babe has no earthly father?”

Sansa had to chuckle at that, though her heart was sore, “I’m not carrying a babe.”

“How do you know? You said yourself you have not had your courses this month.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?” Randa asked.

Sansa looked at her friend. Randa did not know all the sordid details of Sansa’s past, she made life and love and marriage seem so simple. Sansa watched as Randa bent down and scooped up the little pup in her arms.

“He brought you a puppy for god’s sake, woman,” Randa laughed, holding the puppy up. Reaching out, Sansa scratched the little creature behind the ears.

“And a puppy is supposed to mend all wounds?” Sansa asked.

“Maybe the two of you need to fight it out, scream a bit,” Randa grinned, cuddling the puppy close as they continued to walk, “Get it out of your system and then you can make it up to each other later in the bed.”

“Good lord, Myranda,” Sansa said, feeling her cheeks blush.

“Tis only the two of us here, and we both know the way of things,” Randa teased, before her eyes turned serious, “I don’t know what happened to neither you nor Jon before coming here, but I do know that locking up all that hurt is not good for a body, you both need to let it out.”

Sansa took her puppy from Myranda’s arms, “What do you think I should name her?”

Randa laughed, “Don’t think I don’t know that you are trying to change the subject.”

Sansa glared at her friend.

“She’s a proper little lady I think,” Randa said petting the pup.

Sansa smiled, “A Lady?”

The little puppy barked making the two girls laugh and so it was settled. Her name would be Lady.

* * *

Mya was fretting over her chickens when they arrived at her house. Her face was dirty and her black curls were askew, and she had her hands-on hips glaring at the beasts. Sansa noted that her arm was bleeding. Carefully climbing the fence into Mya’s chicken coop, she went to her side.

“What happened to your arm?” Sansa asked taking her arm and examining the wound.

“That nasty, ungrateful wretch like to peck me arm off,” Mya spat out at a large rooster. Randa laughed heartily from her place on the other side of the fence.

“This is why I don’t keep chickens!” she said.

“Well, if I did not keep chickens, _Mistress Royce_ , then neither you nor I would be eating any eggs!” Mya hissed Randa’s name like a curse, which only made Randa laugh more.

“Come on, lets go get your arm cleaned up,” Sansa offered.

Mya wiped her nose on her hand, “It’s alright, Sansa, you don’t need to be fussing over me.”

“You don’t want to be walking about with blood dripping from your arm,” said Sansa.

“Who’s around to care?” Mya said despondently.

“You two are the most dreadful company,” Randa complained, “Does no good to be moping about when the sun’s a shining and there is a fresh breeze.”

“Oh, shut ye geggie, Randa, no body wants to hear yer rubbish about how the world is full of sunshine today!” Mya scowled, and Sansa felt a smile tugging at the corners of her own mouth though she tried to hide it as best she could for Mya’s sake.

“Won’t you make yourself useful, Randa, and bring me some water and cloth,” Sansa requested, “Do you have fresh water in the house?” Sansa asked Mya.

“Aye.”

“Do not fear, Mya, I shall fetch it,” Randa declared with a laugh, and disappeared inside.

“I declare, I could cheerfully throttle that woman sometimes,” Mya said, and Sansa could not help but laugh then.

Randa reappeared with a bucket of water and a cloth and hesitated before climbing the fence as Sansa had done.

“This will be as far as I go, ladies,” Randa declared, eyeing the chickens, “I do not trust those wee shites.”   
Lady barked at the chickens making them cluck and flap, and Randa recoiled even further.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Sansa said in exasperation, shaking her head as she drew Mya toward the fence line.

“I can’t leave ‘em all loose in the yard like this they may fly over the fence,” Mya said indicating the chickens.

“They fly?” Randa asked in horror.

“Oh, don’t be such a feartie, Myranda Royce, they don’t take flight like sparrows,” Mya shook her head.

“Well, lets round them up, and then see to your arm,” said Sansa.

“You want to help me chase my chickens?” Mya asked in surprise.

“Yes, I’ll help,” Sansa said, though she could not ever recall a time in her life when she had handled chickens, “Myranda is obviously not going to help.”

“Are you calling me a coward to my face?” Randa asked with her hands on her hips, though her eyes were laughing.

“Aye, I’m calling you a coward to your face,” Sansa retorted.

To Sansa’s surprise, Randa suddenly hiked up her skirts and started to climb the fence, and just as she did, Lady ducked under the fence rails and lunged at the chickens making them squawk and flap. Randa screamed and Mya laughed, and Sansa watched in horror as Randa tumbled straight into the mud.

“I shall not be cowed by a little mud,” said Randa as she rose, wiping at her hands, with dignity intact though her dress was a little worse for wear.

The three girls laughed and chased hens back into their coop, all while Lady circled and barked, ready to pounce on any of the creatures if she might catch them off their guard. Finally, the last chicken remaining was the big rooster, responsible for Mya’s bloodied arm.

“Careful, he’s a wily fellow, and has no qualms about plucking flesh,” Mya informed them as they started to surround the animal.

“It’s like Satan himself staring out of those black eyes,” said Randa.

Sansa laughed, “He cannot be that much different from the hens.”

“I’d have to disagree with ye there, Sansa, this one has an evil way about him,” said Mya.

“He’s a chicken,” Sansa said and as she did little Lady lunged at the Rooster and barked, causing the Rooster to rear up and fly at the three girls. Randa screeched and fell backward into the mud, Mya made a mad grab for the creature, and Sansa’s hand caught a few pecks from the brute. Having finally apprehended the rooster, the three girls surveyed their battlefield, and looked at each other. One was muddied and two were bleeding, and Lady was trotting around the yard as if she had conquered the land.

“What the hell are the three of ya doing?”

The three girls turned to see Pod leaning against the face, an amused smirk on his face.

“Tis none of your business, Podrick Payne,” Mya huffed.

Randa stood up from the ground, “Chasing demons.”

Podrick laughed and offered his hand to help Randa as she started to climb out of the chicken yard. Sansa came next. Mya exited by way of the gate on the other side of the yard, that neither Randa nor Sansa had seen. When Mya came closer, she and Pod exchanged uncomfortable smiles that Sansa did not fail to see.

“You’re bleeding,” Pod said, taking Mya’s arm and examining her wound.

Mya gently pulled her arm away, looking almost embarrassed, “T’was the bloody rooster, he pecked a hole in Lady Sansa as well.”

Podrick ate his lunch while Mya, Sansa and Randa tended to their battle scars. Randa had to delay her errands and go home to change. After she patched up Mya’s arm, Sansa determined that she and Lady should return home as well, as she had originally intended to spend her day running errands with Randa. Podrick offered to walk back with her when he returned to work after his lunch and so she waited for him, and together they walked back toward Winterfell.

“Your hand alright?” Podrick asked, as they neared the castle.

“Yes, it will be fine, its not as deep as Mya’s scratches,” Sansa said looking down at the raw wounds on her hand, as she carried Lady in one arm.

“I’ve told her time again that she ought to just butcher that rooster and focus on selling eggs,” Pod chuckled, “She does not hatch enough chicks to make that much money off the sale of them anyway.”

“Well, many of us do not often know what’s good for us,” Sansa said, sadly.

Podrick nodding, taking her meaning.

Sansa gave him a sympathetic smile, “Have you and Mya spoken more?”

“Naw, she doesn’t want me, ma’am,” Podrick said sadly, “She’s still pining, I’m afraid.”

“She’s had her heart broken.”

“Aye,” Podrick agreed.

“She needs some time to heal,” Sansa explained, “But perhaps you can be a comfort to her?”

Pod ran a hand through his hair and gave her a sad, bitter smile, “A comfort?”

Sansa thought of Jon, “It’s not so bad as it sounds.”

They walked into the courtyard, and Sansa saw Jon talking to one of the staff in front of the barn. He looked up at her and gave her a small smile and started toward her. Podrick bid her good day and went off to resume his work and Jon approached her. Part of her wanted to run and hide, she was not ready to face him, not ready to ask him the truth of Jeyne’s accusations. How many other secrets had he kept from her? She had not begrudged him Ygritte… she knew he had a life before her, and that theirs was not a marriage for love. Yet, had he many other secrets beyond Ygritte?

Jon gave her a gentle smile and she looked down at Lady in her arms, “Cook said you’d be gone most of the day.”

“Well, Randa and I had a little mishap in the village in and she needed to go home and change and so I returned sooner than expected,” Sansa said.

“What happened?” Jon took her hand and examined her bloodied palm. Sansa wanted to wrench her hand free of his tenderness.

“One of Mya’s roosters,” Sansa explained simply.

“I want you to be careful going down into the village over the next few weeks,” Jon said firmly, as he examined the cut.

“Tis just a little peck from a rooster, my lord, I’ll mend,” Sansa snatched her hand away, and she noticed his frown at her use of _my lord_. She knew he did not like being called such a thing, and she knew she was being petty by doing so. 

“Tis not the rooster I’m worried over,” Jon retorted, “It’s the Scarlet Fever.”

Sansa felt anger flare, “I think I know to be careful of Scarlet Fever.”

“God, Sansa, I’m not trying to pick a fight,” He said irritably, “I know you know; I just worry over you is all.”

“I’m not a delicate little bird,” she hissed.

Lady barked her feisty little bark at Jon.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking at her again and asking, “I want to know what’s going on in that head of yours, what is it you’re not telling me?”

Hot, fiery anger rose inside her then, “What am _I_ not telling _you_?”

Jon stared at her.

“You ask me, what _I_ am not telling _you_?” Sansa repeated her voice escalating.

Jon looked dumbfounded.

Sansa took a deep, shaky breath trying to restrain her anger, but before she could say another word, a carriage tumbled into their courtyard startling them both. Both Sansa and Jon looked up, and Sansa felt her stomach drop and her heart plummet. On the side of the carriage, painted boldly, was the crest of the Baelish’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Confrontations (Jon)


	35. First Confrontations (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit, scratching the surface of Jon and Sansa's issues. I hope it turned out alright! 
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and for your lovely comments!

The carriage in the courtyard drew to a halt, bearing the mockingbird crest of Petyr Baelish. Jon scowled and looked at Sansa. She squared her shoulders bravely, but the almost imperceptible way she drew closer to him showed that there was fear too, fear she was trying to hide. Setting aside their troubles for a moment, Jon took her hand. What the hell was Baelish doing here? Jon knew the man to be bold, but he did not think the man would have the audacity to come to Winterfell after all that passed between them and the agreement they had reached.

“Cousin Sansa!” cried a boy with a snotty nose as he poked his head out the window of the carriage.

“My cousin, Robin,” said Sansa with a sigh.

Jon nodded, “Did you know they were coming?”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head, “Did you?”

“No,” Jon said.

Stepping out of the carriage came Baelish in all his finery, in a style outstripping the station of a small country lordling. Jon was in no mood for Petyr Baelish. The little boy stepped out of the carriage behind Baelish. Jon and Sansa waited. No one else stepped out of the carriage.

“Where’s my aunt?” Sansa asked almost to herself.

“What is he doing here?” Jon asked his own rhetorical question.

They exchanged concerned looks. Side by side, they seemed to silently agree to stand side by side in the face of this intrusion. They approached the Baelish’s.

“Ah, Lord Snow!” Petyr greeted with a beaming smile, as if they were old friends. Jon cringed.

“Mr. Baelish,” Jon greeted tersely.

“You must forgive my coming unannounced,” Petyr started, putting his arm around Robin’s shoulder.

“Must I?” Jon said, and the air grew tense, and the two men stared at each other. Petyr knew well that he was not welcome in Winterfell.

“And here is the lovely Sansa, Lady of Winterfell,” Petyr greeted, “How are you my dear?”

“Uncle,” Sansa curtsied politely.

Robin flew at Sansa’s skirts and hugged her, and looked up her at with big, sad eyes, “Mother is gone, Sansa.”

Sansa’s eyes flew to Petyr’s.

“Alas, my sweet Lysa has passed on to the next life,” Petyr said with less feeling than Jon thought appropriate for a grieving widower.

“When?” Sansa demanded to know.

“Not but a month ago,” said Petyr.

“And you did not think to send word?” Sansa asked, coldly.

“My letter must have been lost in the mail,” said Petyr, “Winterfell is rather remote after all.”

Jon had to refrain from rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“I have business in town with one of the local estates, and thought what better time to come and see how my sweet niece is settling into her marriage?” Petyr went on. Jon saw Baelish’s eyes sweep up and down over Sansa and if it had not been for the child standing between them, Jon would have flattened the man then and there. Jon was about to send Baelish on his way when Sansa spoke.

“Tea?” she invited tersely, putting her arm around Robin’s shoulder.

“Tea,” agreed Jon in nearly a growl, throwing another look at Baelish. He and Baelish stared at each other, sizing each other up. The man smirked at Jon, as if he knew what was in his mind.

“Tea would be lovely,” Baelish finally said, “We shall not trouble you long, but when I told the child that we would be so near to his cousin Sansa’s home, he would not be satisfied until he was able to see her.”

Frowning, Jon nodded, and the two men followed behind Sansa and Robin into the house.

“Its much grander than I even imagined,” said Petyr, admiring the house as Sansa led the way into the parlor, “It is no wonder that our sweet Sansa was so eager to leave us and return here.”

Jon and Sansa looked at each other, and she looked embarrassed by Petyr’s words. Baelish may be attempting to sow discord between them, but Jon was under no allusions concerning the beginnings of their marriage. He knew coming home was the primary motivating factor that had led Sansa to accept his proposal, and he did not begrudge her that. She had not known him after all. Jon continued to watch Baelish, as Sansa instructed their maid to have Cook send in some tea and scones. Robin sat down in front of the hearth and played with the pup that Jon had brought home for Sansa. He wondered if she had named the dog yet. Jon saw Baelish studying Sansa, particularly the wound on her palm. Baelish looked at Jon then and grinned devilishly. Jon wanted to throw Baelish out on his arse… but the child was Sansa’s kin, and he would not be rid of them without her leave. Robin and the pup were soon joined by Ghost and they romped on the floor while the adults exchanged pleasantries regarding the weather and the state of northern roads.

The maid brought in tea and Sansa poured them each a cup and prepared some milk and sweets for Robin who was far too distracted with the dogs to pay Sansa’s treats much mind.

“How did my aunt pass?” Sansa asked Baelish, after making sure Robin was not listening.

“Oh, you know how unstable Lysa could be,” Baelish said with a mock sadness that did not fool Jon, “In one of her fits of hysteria, she would not be calmed, and fell down a flight of stairs. The physicians were unable to save her.”

Sansa did not look fooled by his mock sincerity either, “And Robin, how is he bearing it?”

“Ah, the brave lad,” Baelish said, “We get along as best we can. I know you understand how it is to be a poor motherless child.”

Jon bristled, “And what business brings you north?” He asked changing the subject, hoping to spare Sansa.

“I have several clients here who ship with me, and so I am paying them my respects,” Baelish explained, “And I also thought to perhaps offer you the services of my ships, as we are family after all.”

Jon had to refrain from scowling, “Winterfell sees to its own shipping needs.”

“Ah, yes, I am aware that you do keep a ship in Fort William to get your goods to market,” Petyr said, “But I have a business proposal to offer you that would allow you to move more goods and therefore turn more profit.”

“Jon, I will take Robin into the yard to play with the dogs, while the two of you discuss business,” Sansa said softly and demurely, but he could see the steel in her eyes. Neither he nor she, intended to do business with Baelish.

Sansa and Robin went outside, and Jon and Baelish stared at each other.

“If I were to buy your ship in Fort William, then you would have my whole fleet of merchant ships to get even more wool, sheep, barley and beef to market,” Baelish stated.

“What are you doing here?” Jon demanded to know.

“I told you, the lad wanted to see his cousin and I thought to bring a familial business proposal to you,” Baelish said with a mocking smile, “I’d you give you more than fair shipping prices… we are family after all.”

“You are not family,” Jon said, “Robin is family.”

“And until Robin comes of age, I am in charge of all of his business affairs and his estate,” Baelish reminded him haughtily, “Lysa left me his legal guardian.”

“I’m sure.”

Baelish laughed, “I was her husband after all.”

“How did Lysa die?” Jon asked again.

“I told you,” Baelish cleared his throat, “She fell down a flight of stairs in a fit of hysteria.”

“Did she?”

“Are you accusing me of something Lord Snow?” Baelish squared his shoulders and gave Jon another one of his mocking grins.

“Should I be?”

Baelish laughed, “You always were a glum fellow, but I’d have you know I was quite pleased with my wife and the life she provided me.”

Jon rolled his eyes.

“If Sansa is not pleasing you, I’d be happy to take her off your hands,” Baelish sneered.

Rage filled Jon.

Baelish seemed to know he hit a nerve, “She always was a pretty thing, like her mother…”

Anger getting the better of him, Jon put his hand to Baelish’s throat and slammed him against the mantel, “Touch my wife, or so much as speak of her again, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Genuine fear passed across Baelish’s eyes, before Jon released him and he chuckled, “So touchy… And what do you propose to do with me? Challenge me to a dual? Pistols at dawn?”

“I want you gone,” Jon nearly shouted.

Baelish straightened his collar, “What? Are you afraid that I’ll tell Sansa about our little business arrangement? Does she know of the money you paid for her? Afraid that she would prefer the familiarity of me and Robin to you, a veritable stranger to her?”

“I believe our arrangement involved you staying far away from Sansa and our affairs,” Jon retorted.

Baelish chuckled, and smoothed his fancy waistcoat, “So it did, so it did,” He smiled, “We shall not trouble you further, Lord Snow, but should you have any shipping needs please do not hesitate to send word, we will be staying with the Bolton’s for the week.”

Jon scowled and Baelish chuckled, and headed toward the parlor door. Jon followed him out into the courtyard, where Sansa and Robin were playing with the dogs.

“Robin, it is time to depart!” Called Baelish and the little boy looked like he might cry.

“I want to play with the dogs!”

“You have a dog at home!” Baelish scolded, “Come now!”

With head hung low, Robin came to Baelish and the two took their leave.

Jon and Sansa watched them go and disappear into their carriage and then down the road. Jon looked at Sansa, who was holding her puppy. She seemed as relieved as he was that the visit was short, but her eyes looked icy as she stared down the road after the carriage. Jon reached over and scratched the pup behind the ears.

“Have you named her?” Jon asked casually, though he knew they needed to have a long talk.

“Lady,” Sansa replied simply and turned to go into the house.

Jon turned and followed her. Ominously quiet, she led the way up the staircase and to their study. Jon shut the door behind them and watched as she sat Lady on the ground. Turning to face him, she looked every inch a regal queen.

“I don’t want him here,” She said firmly.

“Nor do I,” said Jon, and he raked a hand through his hair, knowing he had much to say, “Sansa…”

“Jon,” Sansa started coolly, “Is it true that you paid Baelish money for my hand in marriage?”

Jon felt his stomach drop, is this why she had turned so cold toward him since his return?

“Is it?” she snarled when he did not immediately answer.

“Sansa…” Jon started to explain, but what could he say? In some ways it was true, he had paid Baelish off, to free Sansa from him and to keep him away from them.

“Is it?” She repeated, her voice escalating.

“Who told you that?” Jon demanded to know, and immediately winced knowing that the question came out wrong. He had nothing to hide and yet he had hidden it for a long time, never able to find the words to tell her the truth.

“Is it true?” Sansa shouted.

Jon reached for her, but she pulled away from him, and he sighed, “I paid Baelish to get you away from him.”

“To get me away from him?” Sansa repeated, angrily.

“Yes, to get you away from him!” Jon snapped.

“I found out from Jeyne Poole, Jon Snow,” Sansa jerked away from him when he reached for her again, “I thought she made up the tale to shame me, how could you keep this from me?”

“I did not intend…” Jon started not sure what he was wanting to say.

“You did not intend for me to find out, is that it?” Sansa provided.

“No!” Jon snapped, “No that is not what I mean!”

“Then what do you mean?”

“It is not how you think,” Jon said. God, was she determined to misunderstand him? 

“And what exactly am I supposed to think, my lord?” Sansa hissed, “That you bought me from my Uncle? that I am little more than a piece of property to you?”

“You are not property!” Jon shouted.

“You bought me!” Sansa screamed back, her face red, and her bright blue eyes like steel.

Jon’s own anger was rising, did she really trust his heart so little that she would believe such a thing? “Then perhaps you would have preferred to stay with them!” His own insecurity hurled back. 

Sansa backed away from him, “You are just like everyone else, lying and manipulating me to get what you want!” He saw the pain in her eyes, and it broke his heart.

“No,” Jon said.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” She demanded to know.

“I did not know how you would react, we were both so unsure in the beginning, things were fragile, and then time passed, and kept passing,” Jon tried to explain, his words failing him, “there is no excuse.”

“No there is not,” She said, turning to look out the window, her back to him.

They were silent for a few minutes.

“What else are you keeping from me?” Sansa asked in a whisper.

“What else?” Jon repeated.

“What about Ygritte?”

Jon recoiled, “I told you there was someone else before you.”

“And that is all you told me,” She said with a sad sort of resignation, “Aegon said she had red hair, and Sam said you are still saddened by her memory. Is that why you bought me from my uncle? To replace her?”

“No!” Jon shouted, feeling anger rise inside him.

“Then why?” Sansa screamed, and Jon saw a few tears pool in her eyes.

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me?” She snarled, “You did not even know me!”

Jon reached for her hand, wanting to touch her, but she snatched it away, “I met Baelish at a business dinner with a client, when he heard who I was, that I had inherited Winterfell, he made himself known to me.”

Sansa glared at him.

“The way he spoke about you Sansa,” Jon sighed deeply, “I could not in good conscience leave you with him, he was vile and cruel, and I felt I owed it to your father, to your family, to do something about it.”

“And so you paid him for me?”

“He said the only way a marriage proposal could be considered for you was if someone was willing to pay off your debts…”

“My debts?” Sansa obviously had no idea what he was talking about.

“He said there were debts accrued, because your father had left you no living,” Jon explained, trying to urge her to sit, “But I knew it was a lie…”

A few tears did fall down Sansa’s cheek, “T’wasn’t a lie,” she said softly as she sat, “Father made no arrangements for me.”

Jon knelt in front of her, and tried to take her hand again but she would have none of it, “It was a lie, Sansa, I know… because when I came of age to inherit, my solicitor and I went through the accounts of the estate, and found where Ned Stark left you a dowry and a good living allowance. Your father did make arrangements for you.”

She looked like a wounded animal ready to bite, “I don’t understand.”

“I have not been able to prove whether it was the Baratheons or Baelish but one of them stole the money,” Jon explained, “I had no solid evidence to accuse either party, and after I met Baelish, all I knew was that I could not leave you in his care.”

“You pitied me?” She supplied sadly, looking down at her hands with a sort of broken resignation. 

“As you aptly pointed out, I did not know you,” Jon said, he could not deny that there was an element of pity that first motivated him to propose a marriage between them, pity and a sense that the life he led should by rights be hers, “I could not right all the wrongs done you but I thought I might see some measure of justice done by giving you back your home.”

Sansa nodded, and Jon could not tell if she was still angry or even more deeply hurt.

“Sansa, it was not my intention to keep all this from you,” Jon said, “And there is no excuse for having done so, and I am sorry.”

She nodded again but did not say anything.

“Sansa, leannan…?” Jon tried to soothe as she continued to study the floor.

“Go,” she whispered.

“Go?” he repeated, confused.

“Leave me alone,” She sobbed.

He started to argue.

“I can not think with you sitting there staring at me begging for my forgiveness,” She hissed, “None of it matters anyway, it’s done, and it can not be undone, now please just leave me alone.”

Jon nodded sadly and stood, “We’ll speak again,” he stated firmly, knowing that this was not resolved.

She nodded and reached down for her puppy who was clamoring for her attention.

Unable to stop himself, Jon leaned down and kissed the top of her head, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and she nodded again.

* * *

Jon walked down the stairs, heavy of heart and berating himself for his foolishness in keeping the truth from her. He slumped down into a chair in the parlor with Ghost at his feet and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He should have told her that day in the garden before they wed, when he had given her the choice not to wed him. The thought made his heart sick, perhaps if she had known all the facts then she would have refused to wed him after all? He had not expected that thought to sting quite as much as it did. He cared for her a great deal more than he imagined he would in the beginning. In the beginning, he did not believe himself able to love again, but now… he was not so sure that he had ever been in love before… Sansa meant a great deal to him, and if he did not love her yet, he was certainly near to it. He had never been cared for and comforted in the way Sansa had cared for him, even though she did not love him. She had been sweet and kind, and willing to be his wife even though theirs was a marriage built on practicality and safety. He had tried to return that kindness, but all the while he had been keeping secrets from her… lying without meaning too. Jon felt sick to his stomach and scrubbed his hands down his face. He was not used to sharing his life and heart with someone… not even Ygritte had needed all his heart’s secrets… but Ygritte had only ever been the love of a boy, and she had not been his wife. He knew nothing about being a husband… perhaps he knew nothing at all.

“My lord…” The maid’s timid voice broke into his thoughts. Jon looked up to see the girl standing there holding a letter in her hand. She gave it to him.

“Thank you,” He said, and she scurried off.

Looking down at the letter, Jon saw it was in Sam’s handwriting. He opened it, curious as to why Sam would send a note, instead of coming himself.

Jon read the letter.

“Confirmed case of Scarlet Fever in town,” it read, “will have more information soon.”

Jon’s heart sank even further.

 _Scarlet Fever was here_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: A strained marriage and Scarlet Fever comes to town 
> 
> ** once again, I do apologize if this hits a little too close to home. I plotted this story back before everything started happening with the virus where I live, and I seriously considered changing the plot, but after some consideration decided to keep the plot as it was, due to the fact that illness and disease was a very real part of the lives of people during this period.


	36. No Record of Wrongs (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little peek inside Sansa's head as she wrestles with her feelings. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for your lovely comments, you all keep me motivated to keep writing!

Sansa had not heard Jon come back upstairs after their very tense supper. It was near on midnight, and so she crept down the stairs, with little Lady at her heals, nipping at the hem of her nightgown. Poking her head around the parlor door, when she saw a lamp still lit, Sansa saw him sitting in a chair with Ghost laying across his feet, and his eyes were closed. She was still angry… or perhaps more wounded than she wanted to confess. Harry’s outright lies had been much worse and far more damaging, and for some unaccountable reason they hurt her far less than Jon’s omissions. His eyes fluttered open and he gave her a soft, sad smile. Quickly, she backed out of the doorway, absurdly hoping he had not seen her though she knew he very well did.

“Sansa?” He called gently.

Steeling herself, she came back and stood in the parlor doorway and stared at him.

“Did you need something?” He asked.

She looked down at the floor and to Lady who was looking up at her expectantly, “No… I just… I did not hear you come back up…”

In truth she had been somewhat concerned that he had left. The thought caused fear to grow inside her. That soft sad, smile returned to his face.

“Did you need me?” His voice was kind, but with a hint of vulnerability that Sansa believed she may be imagining.

“I was checking on you is all,” She said, “I was afraid you had gone…”

He nodded and looked down at his hands, “I’m still here.”

She found the words strangely settling.

“I’ll be up soon,” He said.

She nodded, “Goodnight, Jon.”

“Sansa,” Jon stopped her before she turned to go.

“Yes?”

“I had word from Sam earlier today, the Scarlet Fever is here…”

Sansa felt her stomach drop.

“Please take care when going to the village,” Jon said, “If you must go at all.”

Sansa nodded, and left him to whatever it was he was doing in the parlor.

* * *

Myranda was right. The bed was colder without Jon in it, but Sansa was not ready to have him back. She had been prepared to trust him, it had been so long since she trusted anybody, but to find out he had kept the truth from her for so long, no matter how noble his intentions, gave her pause. Had he always been acting a part to her? Pitying her? _Pity and compassion are not the_ _same_ , he had told her that once, but could she believe his words? Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, Sansa gathered some bread and cheese, oats and fruit into a basket. Lyanna Mormont had come up bright and early and told Cook that Old Nan was feeling poorly and did not have anything to eat.

“Jon won’t like it one bit,” Cook shook her head as she continued on with making breakfast.

“I’m not going to let Old Nan starve,” Sansa said firmly.

“I’m not suggesting that you do, what I’m suggesting is that you let someone else take the food down for you, Jon is not going to be happy hearing you went down to the village with the Scarlet Fever about,” Cook explained.

“Well, Jon is not here, is he?” Sansa retorted. The fact of the matter was she did not know where Jon had disappeared to this morning. She had not seen him, and further, she did not feel she needed his permission to go to the village to care for one of their ailing tenants. Yes, he urged caution, but he did not forbid her to go.

“Aye, lass, but ye’ll not make a liar of me, if he asks me where ye have gone, I’ll tell him,” Cook warned.

Sansa kissed Cook’s cheek, “I should expect nothing less.”

“Just so long as you know,” said Cook.

Sansa finished gathering her supplies into her basket and headed on her way.

* * *

Old Nan’s cottage was dark and cold when Sansa entered to hear the old woman coughing. Sansa cringed. She knew Nan was not doing well according to reports from Sam, but she shuddered to think what might happen if Nan caught the Scarlet Fever.

“Lady Stark?” Nan called out to her.

“It’s Sansa, Nan,” Sansa said putting her basket down on the table.

“Sansa?”

“Yes, Sansa,” Sansa came and knelt in front of Nan who was sitting on the bed. Old Nan touched her cheek.

“Why you have red hair, be ye touched by the fairies?”

“No, its for good luck,” Sansa smiled hoping to coax a smile from the old woman.

“Good luck?”

“Yes.”

“My wee babe has red hair,” said Nan, and Sansa felt her heart clench.

“Which one?” Sansa tried to make conversation as she got up and began to unload her basket, though she could tell Nan was not in her right state of mind.

“My littlest,” replied Nan, “She was taken by the fairies…”

Sansa felt her heart break, did she mean that the babe had….? Sansa did not want to dwell on such a thing.

“I’ve brought you some food,” Sansa said pleasantly, as she cut a couple slices of bread and cheese, and put it on a plate with the still warm oatmeal that Cook had sent along with her. Coming to sit beside Nan on the bed, Sansa offered the plate to Nan.

“I can’t be eatin’,” said Nan.

“Yes, you can,” Sansa replied, offering the food to her again.

“I can’t not while my bairns go hungry,” Nan replied looking off across the room at the ghosts that were still alive in her head.

“The children will have their fill,” Sansa tried, “And you must eat if you are going to care for them.”

“They’re all gone, aren’t they?” Nan looked at Sansa with tears in her eyes.

Sansa felt her own tears well in her eyes, “Eat, Nan, please.”

“All gone,” Nan repeated, and laid down on the bed muttering to herself.

Setting the plate of food down on the little table within Nan’s reach, Sansa covered the old lady up with a tattered blanket. She made mental note to bring a new blanket to her next time. Feeling Nan’s forehead for fever, Sansa had to resign herself to cleaning the little kitchen while Nan slept and woke and muttered to herself and slept some more. By the time Sansa left her that afternoon, she had manage to get a few bites of oatmeal, and a slice of bread and cheese down the old woman, and she was exhausted by the end, not only in body but in heart as well. Nan’s mutterings about dead, red-haired babes would haunt her for a very long time.

* * *

Sick at heart and not wanting to face her husband, Sansa made her way toward the Seaworth’s home. She had not had the chance to see Marya in some time and needed words of wisdom… or comfort… which she needed more, she did not know. The Seaworth’s home was a welcome sight when it came into view. Marya was outside in her garden, and when she caught sight of Sansa she smiled and waved.

“Hello, my dear, I’m surprised Jon does not have you cloistered up at Winterfell with the fear of the Scarlet Fever about,” Marya chuckled when Sansa approached and stood to greet her.

“I’m not sure where Jon is today,” Sansa said, hoping no bitterness showed in her voice, “He does not always tell me things.”

Marya smiled, “Ah, well, he is a very active man your husband.”

“Indeed.”

“And how’s that little pup of yours? Jon was quite pleased with himself when he came to pick her up for you,” Marya said, and Sansa felt her heart sink when she thought of the disappointment in Jon’s eyes when he had thought Sansa had not wanted the pup.

“She’s settling in nicely, I’ve named her Lady,” Sansa replied, and motioned toward the garden, “Do you need some help?”

“Oh, no, why don’t we go inside and have a bit of tea?” Marya offered and Sansa nodded.

In the house, Marya eyed her curiously as she poured them tea.

“You seem troubled, Sansa,” Marya said, handing her a cup.

“The whole world seems troubled right now,” Sansa replied evasively.

“Well,” Marya chuckled, “I haven’t time for the whole world’s troubles, but I have the time for yours, if you care to share.”

“I’ve come from Old Nan’s house.”

Marya nodded thoughtfully.

“She’s not doing well, and today she was not in her mind,” Sansa explained looking down into her teacup.

“She has been increasingly so,” Marya confirmed.

“She’s all alone down there and half starved because no one can get her to eat anything,” Sansa felt tears in her eyes, “I want to help her, but she won’t let me.”

“You can only do what you can.”

“Its not enough,” Sansa said simply and sadly.

“No, sometimes its not, but still you can try,” Marya patted her hand.

Sansa felt sick to her stomach, “She kept muttering about her red headed babe who was taken by the fairies.”

Marya’s face went a little pale as well, “Losing babes is not so uncommon. I lost two myself, one I lost in the womb, and the other in the cradle.”

Sansa felt a few tears escape, “How does any one bear such a thing? Or have more babes at such risk?”

“Love, my dear, tis the only balm for such hurts,” Marya said.

Sansa was still not entirely sure such love was not a fairytale, “Is it not the cause of such hurts?”

Marya gave her a sympathetic smile, “perhaps the cause and the balm.”

Sansa nodded.

“You will understand once you have a babe of your own, which seems likely to happen sooner rather than later if our last conversation is any indication,” Marya gave her a secretive smile.

“Jon and I…” Sansa started, putting a hand to her belly, half afraid that she might be with child, “Jon and I quarreled.”

“Husbands and wives do quarrel at times, tis not the end of the world.”

“He kept the truth from me,” Sansa said sharply, and then the whole story came tumbling from her mouth and from the wounded depths of her heart.

Marya listened patiently, without question or interruption, until Sansa finally heaved a deep sigh and quieted. They looked at each other for a moment.

“Tis no matter that his intentions were more noble, his dishonesty has wounded me even more than the malicious lies spread about me in England,” Sansa confessed.

“Do you think perhaps, it hurts you more, because you care more for Jon?” Marya suggested, “You said so yourself, that you were willing to trust him, or willing to learn.”

“I don’t trust anything anymore,” Sansa said in a harsh whisper.

Marya reached over and took her hand, “It seems the balm for this hurt is forgiveness.”

Sansa looked at Marya then. She did not want to forgive Jon, she wanted to stay mad, or at least she thought she did, it seemed safer that way.

“Jon made a mistake no doubt, he should have told you the truth,” said Marya, “But have you considered that Jon, like you, does not know how to trust either?”

Sansa looked at Marya.

“Jon grew up unloved and unwanted by his family, passed over and pushed aside, and he learnt to keep his own counsel and to be his own man,” Marya explained, “And he’s still learning to be a husband, just as you are learning to be a wife. Neither of you will be perfect.”

“I’m not asking for perfection,” Sansa said, “But I would have truth.”

“Aye, but forgive him still,” Marya said gently, “Tis no kind of life without it. A marriage spent keeping count of each other’s wrongs and punishing each other for it, is a marriage destined for misery. Love keeps no record of wrongs…”

Sansa smiled softly, in recollection of such pure words. Words her own mother used to read to her. _Love keeps no record of wrongs_.

“Forgive him,” Marya said again, “As next time it may be you who needs the forgiving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon's whereabouts, marital tensions rise, scarlet fever spreads (Jon POV)


	37. Brick by Brick (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been planning this chapter for a few weeks, I hope it turned out alright. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading and for your lovely comments!

“You’ve been a bloody fool, lad,” Davos said as they loaded sacks of grain onto a wagon. Jon sighed, deeply.

“Aye, I know,” he said, feeling the rebuke in Davos’ mild words keenly.

“I told ye to tell her,” said Davos, “Secrets always catch up… Take it from a man who has been happily married for near on 40 years… Your wife is the greatest ally you can have, you can’t keep secrets such as these without breaking a sacred trust.”

Jon nodded, loading another sack of grain. He wanted to make sure grain was delivered to their tenants before the end of the day, for he feared that the Scarlet Fever would be upon them soon and he would not see his people starve if an epidemic erupted in their village.

“The tentative trust you had been building with Sansa may be broken beyond repair, I hope you realize that,” Davos admonished, giving Jon a severe look.

“Aye, it was fragile at best to begin with,” Jon raked a hand through his hair, feeling a tightening in his chest, “It was not my intention to keep things from her…” He knew very well he had been a fool and a coward.

“Then why’d you do it?”

Sitting down on the edge of the wagon, Jon looked at the older man, “In the beginning, especially with the money I paid to Baelish, I did not tell her for I feared she would feel obliged to wed me, as if she did not have any choice in the matter, she had so little choice as it was, I did not want her to feel forced… all I wanted was to provide an avenue of freedom for her from Baelish, in a way I felt I was paying a long owed debt to Lord Stark…”

“And the dowry?” Davos asked.

“I had so few answers for her regarding the dowry, I did not know how to tell her,” Jon said, “And then time passed… and kept passing… and things were good, sweet even… and I had had so very little expectations for our marriage… at best I thought we might grow to be good friends…”

“Did you tell her these things yesterday?”

“No, they felt like weak excuses for actions that were inexcusable,” Jon admitted.

“Even with good friends, these types of secrets should not be kept,” Davos stated sitting down beside him, “Would you have kept such things from Sam in the army?”

Jon shook his head, though he remembered all to well how long it took him to trust Sam. He had been so unsure of everyone’s intention in the Army, had it not been for Sam, Jon did not think he would have come as far as he did. If Sam had kept secrets from him, as he had done to Sansa, Jon imagined he might not have ever learned to trust again. Shame filled him.

“You care for her, lad,” Davos said kindly, “I can see that you do, even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

Jon looked at his hands, not yet ready to admit it. He did care for Sansa… more than he imagined he would in the beginning.

“I don’t know what to do, Davos,” Jon confessed quietly.

“You begin again, build the trust and the love back brick by brick,” Davos patted him on the arm again, “And pray to God she can find it in herself to forgive ye.”

Jon did not have much experience with being forgiven, growing up his father and uncle had hung each of his mistakes and wrongs around his neck until his soul had been so weighed down, it had taken years to straighten. Feeling sick at heart, Jon wandered if Sansa would come to hate him for the wrongs he committed against her.

“She doesn’t love me, and I’m not sure she wants too, especially not now,” Jon said softly, feeling his heart raw, as if he were a little boy again hiding in a corner waiting for someone to love him in spite of his wrongs. He had not felt that way in a very long time, and he did not like the feeling of it now. Long buried insecurities threatened to choke him.

“And perhaps she never will, but you knew that when you wed her,” Davos said, urging Jon up to continue their mission with their wagon full of grain, “All you can do is pluck up your courage and try to repair the damage done… brick by brick.”

Jon nodded, “Brick by brick.”

* * *

Nan was not well. She had not been well in some time, but Jon feared for her if she were to catch the Scarlet Fever. The very young and the very old were most susceptible. With a blanket in his arms, Jon looked down at little Lyanna, ever his shadow in the village, as she walked with him toward Nan’s house, while Davos distributed grain to their tenants, starting with those most in need. His heart ached to think of losing Lyanna or Nan, or any of these people who took to him so readily as not only their landlord, but as their friend. His aunt Dany used to accuse him of having a tender heart, warning him that it would be his undoing, but Jon did not consider compassion a weakness. These people had opened their hearts to him, treated him like family, when they did not have too, he was only their landlord after all. They cared for him like he was one of their own… and he could only hope he stewarded their trust better than he had his wife’s. He entered Nan’s cottage and found the old lady curled up in her bed, under the tattered blanket he had seen the last time he had been there.

“Nan?” Jon knelt beside her bed, draping the new blanket he had brought for her over her frail body.

“They’re all gone,” Nan muttered staring at the wall.

“Lady Sansa came earlier, but she could hardly get her to eat anything,” Lyanna informed him.

Jon saw the tell-tale signs of Sansa’s kindness, her basket left behind filled with vittles from the Winterfell larder, some flowers in a vase, and Nan’s little kitchen tidier than he had seen it previously.

“My wee red-haired babe,” Nan grasped Jon’s hand, “They took her. They took them all.”

Jon thought his heart might break as he tucked the blanket around her, “Rest, Nan, do not fret yourself so.”

“She’s been talking nonsense all day,” Lyanna said harshly, though Jon could see the fear in her dark eyes. She had been confronted at a young age by the death of her parents, but her parents had not been old. He wondered if Lyanna had seen anyone as old as Nan in their last days. Jon patted Lyanna on the shoulder.

“She’s remembering younger days,” Jon explained, “Some that were better and some that were worse.”

Jon stood to his feet and surveyed the basket Sansa had left, to see if he could supplement anything with the supplies he and Davos had brought from town but it seemed Sansa had been quite thorough. He and Lyanna left the cottage, and Jon looked over the roof to make sure the thatch had not sprung anymore leaks.

“Is Nan going to die?” Lyanna asked, over straight forward.

Jon knelt in front of her, “Aye, I think the end may come sooner than later.”

“Lots of people are going to die, aren’t they?” Lyanna asked.

“Everyone dies eventually,” said Jon with a heavy sigh.

“From the Scarlet Fever, I mean,” Lyanna said squaring her shoulders like the brave little soldier she always tried to be.

“Maybe,” Jon said honestly, “But we will do our best to save who we can.”

* * *

By the time Jon made it home the sun was setting. He took a breath, steeling himself, thinking of Davos’ words… Brick by brick… As a man who had taken years to learn to trust himself, he knew that it was going to take time to earn her trust back, and he could only pray that he had not broken that trust beyond repair. He entered the house and found Sansa sitting on the floor in front of the hearth in the parlor with Ghost and Lady. Lady was in her lap, and playfully nipping at Sansa’s fingers, making her giggle. Jon smiled at the sweet scene. Ghost stood and came to greet him, which drew Sansa’s attention to him. She frowned when she saw him. Gathering his courage, Jon gave her a smile and came to sit down in the chair in front of the hearth. He was tired, and his heart was weary. They were silent as Sansa played with Lady, and Jon stared into the fire.

“Davos and I went to town and bought extra supplies for our tenants in case there is an outbreak of Scarlet Fever in our village.”

She nodded without looking at him.

Jon could see the fire in her eyes, “Lyanna said you stopped by Old Nan’s to try and get her to eat.”

Sansa nodded again, and Jon sighed.

“I don’t think that she has much time left,” Jon said rubbing the bridge of his nose, and Ghost came over and licked him. Jon smiled and petted the dog, “I was thinking maybe offering to have her stay in the castle, if we can’t get her to accept one of the guest chambers, then maybe we can at least get her to stay in one of the staff quarters, either way she would have us, and maids to help her, and food being prepared for her…”

Jon saw a softness in Sansa eyes for a moment, but she did not seem ready to soften toward him, “As you wish,” she said.

It was Jon’s turn to nod, “I will check in on her tomorrow and see how she feels…” Jon studied her, and she pretended not to notice, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” She said firmly.

Standing, Jon offered her his hand to help her from the ground, but she ignored it and stood herself. She held her head high, with steel in her eyes. Jon reached to touch her arm, but she flinched away from him, just as she used to do when she had first come to be here. Lady barked at him.

“Sansa,” Jon started, taking a deep breath, “I know you are still angry with me, and you have every right to be…”

She gave him an icy stare that sent shivers down his spine, “Do I? Well, I’m glad I have your leave to be angry.”

Jon recoiled.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see if Cook has supper ready,” She jerked away from him and strode out of the parlor with little Lady on her heels who eyed Jon warily.

“Sansa…”

She turned and glared at him, “Yes, my lord?”

“Please don’t call me that…” Jon sighed, “Can we speak?”

“Are you able too?” Sansa retorted, “Have you a mouth? Have you a mind to formulate words?”

Jon floundered, not sure what to say.

“I can’t imagine what else it is that you have to say,” said Sansa, bitterly, “Ours is just a business arrangement, there’s no need to say anything further…”

“Sansa…” Jon pleaded, “I think we both know that what we have is more than a business arrangement…”

“It’s comforting that you think we know each other’s minds so well, I suppose that is the only way I will know what is in yours,” Sansa snapped.

Her tongue was faster and sharper than his, and he had caught glimpses of it in their few months together, glimpses of her boldness, but now her words shamed him. He looked at the ground. Steeling his resolve, Jon reached out and took her hand. She looked down at their hands with a sort of cold indifference.

“I had hoped that we might build some level of affection, maybe even love, but I know I broke your trust…” He confessed.

Sansa snatched her hand back, “You needn’t feel beholden to me,” She said coolly, “I don’t love you, Jon, I never did…”

Even though he had always known they were true, it did not stop the words from stinging, “I know,” He said, “I am sorry still.”

Sansa nodded and swept out of the room, leaving a painful emptiness in her wake.

* * *

Jon and Sansa busied themselves over the next few days, ensuring their tenants’ needs were met in the face of a rising epidemic of the Scarlet Fever. At home, they were shadows to each other, sharing nothing more than the happenings of their day. Jon was beyond weary as he had been up before dawn each day, riding out to the village, and then checking in on his staff in the fields, and making sure that cottages were in good repair and that everyone had what they needed. Jon would not see his tenants starve in broken down cottages while their families died of Scarlet Fever. The first case in their village had been reported to him the day after he and Sansa’s cold words in the parlor. The next day Jon had gone to Old Nan’s and tried to convince her to come and stay at the castle, but the old woman refused. That had been several days ago, or had it been a week? He knew Sansa had been to see her as well, trying to convince her to come stay at the castle, and nursing her when there was no one else to nurse her. The old lady would not budge from the home where she had wed and raised her brood of children. In a way Jon understood, but he wished there was more he could do to help her.

“Jon,” Lyanna Mormont said came to walk beside him, as Jon left Old Nan’s house after another unsuccessful attempt to bring her to the castle. He looked at Lyanna, whose face was flushed, and Jon noted with alarm that she looked ill.

“Lyanna, you need to go home,” He said, trying to be both gentle and commanding with the child.

“I’m not sick,” She said.

“Where’s your sisters?” Jon asked, wondering at why Dacey and Alysanne were allowing Lyanna to still be seeing to her chores when she was quite obviously ill. He did not know if it was Scarlet Fever but if it was, he could not bare to see strong, little Lyanna taken by it.

“Dacey and Alysanne are working, and if I do not see to the chores, they will not have their supper,” Lyanna explained to them.

“Lyanna, I need you to go home now, can you do that?” Jon asked.

“But supper…” She started to argue.

“I’ll have some sent down to you,” Jon said, “I’ll have Podrick bring it to you, how would you like that?” He asked, knowing that Podrick was good friends with the Mormont girls.

Lyanna looked at him then, “Has no one told you, Jon?”

“Told me what?”

“Podrick has the Scarlet Fever,” Lyanna said, her eyes big and sad.

Jon felt his heart drop into his stomach, “What?”

“Sam was there to see him yesterday,” Lyanna explained.

Jon’s thoughts immediately went to Sansa. Had anyone told her? Did she know Podrick was ill? Would she be forced to lose another she cared for to Scarlet Fever?

“Has Lady Sansa been told?” Jon asked.

“I don’t know,” Lyanna said, a little breathlessly.

“Lyanna, you must return home, you are ill,” Jon said, and without preamble he swept the little girl into his arms.

“I’m not sick,” she said, half-heartedly as Jon took long strides toward the Mormont home.

She was sick though, Jon could tell by her glassy eyes, and fevered brow. Arriving at the Mormont cottage, Jon found no one there. He laid Lyanna in one of the beds. He was loathed to leave her alone, but someone had to send for her sisters and for Sam.

“Lyanna, you are not to leave that bed,” Jon commanded.

“But…”

“No buts, I’m going to find Sam and your sisters and send them to you,” Jon explained in a tone that brooked no argument. After he found Sam and the Mormont girls, he must return home and tell Sansa of Podrick. Sansa may not love him, but at least he could offer her comfort, if she would accept it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Things get worse (Sansa POV)


	38. Time (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next little bit. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and for your lovely comments!

“This is madness, you know?” Randa said as she and Sansa marched along the road in the light drizzling rain, “We should not be traipsing all over the countryside when there is death about.”

“Well, if you don’t want to come, you are more than welcome to go home,” said Sansa, hiking her skirts nearly to her knees to avoid the mud.

“I did not say I wanted to go home, only that you were mad.”

“Aye, I’m mad,” Sansa huffed, and she was mad indeed.

“What with the Scarlet fever its likely that Petyr Baelish is not even in the county anymore, why would he stay at such risk?” Randa asked, “And I don’t think Jon would like it much for either of us to be calling on the Bolton’s.”

“We’re not calling on the Bolton’s we’re calling on Baelish,” Sansa informed her friend.

“Who is staying at the Bolton’s house,” Randa clarified, “So I don’t think we can do one without the other.”

Sansa was angry and wounded, and she wanted to lash out at someone. They made it nearly to the gates of Dreadfort, the Bolton estate, and the rain was pouring harder. Pausing, Sansa looked over at Randa, who looked like a drowned pup. She imagined she did not look much better. Randa looked at her.

“I know ye are angry, and that perhaps you want to throttle something,” Randa said, “But I don’t know what you are hoping to accomplish by confronting him here.”

Sansa looked up at the big house. The Boltons and the Starks were not friendly, nor were the Boltons and the Snows. Was she being reckless by hiking up here to give Baelish a piece of her mind? She should have given it to him when he was at Winterfell. Jon would not like her being at the Boltons, Randa was right about that, in fact he had nearly forbade her to even go near Bolton kin. Did she care what Jon thought about anything? She looked back at Randa who was studying her.

“My friend,” Randa began, “If you truly think it will give ye a measure of peace, storming in there like a proper highland charge, than I’ll stand beside you, but yelling at Baelish in your sodden clothes and wounded heart will solve nothing, it will only serve to put yourself in danger. The Boltons aren’t to be trusted.”

“But you’ll go with me?” Sansa asked, feeling the rain soaking through to her undergarments.

“Aye, all the way,” Randa said as her teeth began to chatter, “What’s life without a little adventure?”

Sansa’s heart felt heavy, she wanted to scream and rage at something, but was there wisdom in barging in unannounced on the Boltons, who had more than once escaped justice for crimes committed? And to drag Randa into her folly? Sansa sighed. Randa was right, there was not wisdom in this. Maybe one day she might have the chance to rage at Baelish, but not when she was drenched, and hurting and confused. She looked at Randa and nodded.

“You’re right,” Sansa said, “I’m sorry for dragging you half-way across the county in the rain.”

“No harm done if nothing else we had a jolly good stroll, and I don’t mind the rain so much,” Randa chuckled and looped her arm through Sansa’s, “Now come along and lets go home before we get shot or run through with a blade, this place gives me the shivers. Who names their home Dreadfort anyway?”

Sansa had to smile at Randa’s prattle, as they turned around and started to make their way toward home.

“Did you see the Poole’s carriage was there?” Randa asked when they had made it a safe enough distance away.

“No,” Sansa said, she had been too consumed with her own thoughts to notice much else, not even her sweet friend’s discomfort.

“That little twat Jeyne Poole is a bloody fool if she thinks she is going to happily wed the likes of Ramsey Bolton.”

“I believe Jon tried to speak to her father about it,” Sansa said, for as much as she disliked Jeyne Poole, she did not wish ill on the stupid girl.

“No one listened, no doubt,” Randa huffed, “The Bolton’s are determined to have a foothold in every great house in the county, I think that is why they hate Jon so much.”

That puzzled Sansa.

“I think they had hoped you would inherit Winterfell, and would have tried to wed you to Ramsey yourself,” Randa explained, “They were sorely disappointed when they learned your father’s estate was entailed. Winterfell will always be a seat of power in this community and the Boltons, I’m afraid, will always be jealous.”

For a moment, Sansa wondered how life would have been different if she had been allowed to inherit Winterfell, but for some reason the thought sat sourly in her mind. She could not imagine living there alone without family, with nothing but her ghosts. She thought perhaps she would have become but a shadow of herself, just as she had in the south with the Baratheons and the Baelishs, for a home was truly made by the people in it. Thinking of Jon, she wondered if they might have had the chance to find a home in each other. She recalled the way he looked into her eyes and stroked her hair when he lay between her legs. He had almost had her believing that he felt more for her than he let on. She was happy he had only found a chink in her armor, and she would be sure that he could not hurt her again. Neither of them had ever said that they loved each other, but occasionally Jon had called her _love_ in that thick Scottish brogue of his, making icy parts of her melt in ways that she wanted to hate. Though her anger at Jon had not cooled, a small part of her felt sick to her stomach recalling how she threw their loveless marriage in his face a week ago. She was not by nature a cruel person, but her tongue had always been sharp, even though she had learned to bite it over the years. It was true though, was it not? They did not love each other. Did they?

* * *

Both she and Jon had tried on separate occasions over the last week to get Old Nan to move to the castle, away from where the Scarlet Fever was the worst and to a place where she could be cared for and fed properly. They both had been unsuccessful. The last time Sansa had been down to see her the old woman had refused to eat and was still rambling nonsensically about her children and husband who had been long dead. The rain over the last two days had not relented, and poor Randa had caught a cold from their reckless excursion down to Dreadfort. She was not sure what she had been thinking, showing up at the Bolton’s to demand answers from Baelish would have been folly, and Randa had been correct…Baelish had left. She held a letter from him, marked from the Eyrie estate.

 _“Sweet Sansa_ …” it had begun, and she had felt overwhelming revulsion. The letter had been congenial, containing nothing remarkable. He stated that he and Robin had returned home upon hearing of the Scarlet Fever outbreak, but he would make another trip north soon enough, and he had stated that Robin had been very distraught not to be able to tell her goodbye. She was sad to think of little Robin, who was stuck with Baelish until he came of age. The letter ended with _, “Please know that there will always be a place for you at the Eyrie should you have need of it, Sincerely, your loving Uncle Petyr…”_

Sansa felt nauseous, putting a hand over her belly she tried to quell the feeling. She had not been well the last few days herself, and she could not determine if she had simply eaten something foul or if were merely her fear for her people and the rift between her and Jon that they continued to let fester. Sitting down on the settee, Sansa stuffed the letter in her dress pocket and pulled a blanket around her. Noise from the courtyard drew her eyes to the window.

She watched as Jon strode, like a highland king, through the courtyard. He looked exhausted and a soft part of her wanted to sit him down in front of the hearth and for them to be as they were before… They had lived like shadows together this past week, passing each other like cold ghosts of themselves as they sought to help their tenants and avoid each other. A few times Jon had tried to talk to her, but she had shrugged him off, and now they were silent. She was startled from her thoughts by Jon throwing open the front door.

“Sansa!” He called to her.

Sansa straightened her spine and continued to stare out the window as she heard his footsteps enter the parlor. He touched her elbow, and when she looked at him, he looked so sad.

“Lyanna Mormont is ill,” Jon said raking a hand through his hair.

“What?” Sansa’s heart broke open.

“I just came from the Mormonts,” Jon confessed.

Fear slammed into her chest threatening to knock the breath from her. He had been there… what if he caught it?

“What were you thinking?” She snapped.

“I’ve had it before Sansa, when I was a boy, its unlikely to take a second time.”

“But not impossible!” Sansa shouted, wanting to rage at him.

“Aye, lass, not impossible,” He admitted, “But I did not come in here to fight with you… I … I have to tell you something.”

Sansa glared at him.

“It’s Podrick,” Jon started and studied her face, “He’s taken ill…”

“No,” Sansa shook her head, “No, that’s not possible, I saw him not two days ago when I went to visit Nan and he was fine.”

“Sam confirmed it, Leannan, he has it,” Jon replied softly.

Shaking her head, Sansa felt tears sting her eyes. How could sweet Podrick be sick? Podrick, who showed her the fairy pools and sang in Gaelic to the lambs, and who had been one of her very first friends upon her arrival here, after Gilly. The tears started to spill, how many people did she have to lose? What must Mya be feeling?

Jon knelt beside her, and reached for her, as if he meant to hold her, but Sansa shrugged him off.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Leannan,” He said, looking equally pained.

“Who’s tending to him?” Sansa asked looking back out the window to not face the grief in his eyes, “He hasn’t any family.”

He reached for her again, but Sansa pushed his hands, meant to comfort, away.

“The Mormont girls have looked in on him,” said Jon as he studied her face with heartbreak in his eyes. Sansa stood from the settee, nearly knocking Jon off his heels without meaning too.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as he stood and stalked behind her.

“Someone has to tend to him, he’s all alone,” Sansa insisted.

“Sansa…” Jon started, grasping her arm.

Sansa whipped around feeling her anger flaring, “What Jon? What do you want?”

“You don’t need to be down in the village.”

“So, you may gallivant all over the countryside while I languish away here and wait for everyone I hold dear to die?” Sansa hissed, tears making little rivers down her cheeks as she recalled Robb, and Arya and Mother… and now Podrick, and Lyanna, and Nan.

Jon’s eyes looked far too tired to argue. She jerked her arm away from him. He nodded and let her go with a sort of sad resignation that she did not quite understand.

* * *

Wrapping her shawl tight around her, Sansa trudged out into the cool evening air. The wind whipped her red locks into a tangle until she finally draped her shawl over her head. On the way down, she vomited once on the side of the road. Her belly ached. The sun would be going down soon, and the air felt like it was going to rain again. Perhaps this was a fool’s errand as well? She thought sadly as she marched into the village, which was eerily quiet, while the wind howled around her. Mya… she would stop at Mya’s first. When she arrived at Mya’s, however, no one was home, pushing aside all thoughts of warning, she continued down the lane toward Podrick’s small dwelling. Upon arrival, she found Mya sitting on the doorstep, trying to wipe at tears.

“Mya?” She asked in alarm, flying to the side of her friend.

“He’s not well,” Mya said shakily.

“Have you seen to him?” Sansa asked putting her arm around Mya’s shoulder, both girls were shivering in the cool evening air.

“I made him a fire, but he was already so warm,” Mya sniffled, “The fever is going to take him, and I never got the chance to tell him.”

“He’s still with us, Mya,” Sansa assured rubbing Mya’s arm, “The fever does not take everyone, Jon had it once when he was a lad, and he survived.”

Mya’s tears kept falling, “I should’ve told him…”

“Told him?”

“I meant to tell him…” Mya cried.

“Go home, Mya,” Sansa urged, “I’ll see to him now. You’re exhausted.”

“I don’t want to leave him!”

“Go home and rest for awhile then, then you can come back,” Sansa said. Mya wiped her nose on her sleeve and tried to hold back her tears. She nodded. Sansa watched as Mya went back toward her own home, and Sansa turned toward Podrick’s door. She prayed that she might be as lucky today as she had been ten years ago, and that she would not catch the fever. Opening the door slowly, she saw Podrick laying on his little cot, the fire was blazing, and Podrick looked pale as death. The tell-tale rash of scarlet fever was spread across his neck, and he was shivering.

“Pod?” Sansa called out softly.

“Lady Sansa?” Podrick responded, glancing over at her, “You… you shouldn’t be here…”

“I came to see if you had any needs…” Sansa said as she sat down in the chair beside the fire. She saw a cloth and a bowl of water and reached for both. Dunking the cloth in the water, she wrung it out and draped it across Pod’s forehead.

“You… you shouldn’t be here…” He repeated.

“I could not let you fend for yourself,” Sansa said.

“I’d not forgive myself if you caught this…” Podrick huffed.

“Don’t fret yourself over me,” Sansa said, “I’m redheaded, means I’m lucky.”

He gave her a weak smile.

“Mya is worried for you,” Sansa said.

He nodded, “We’ve been fools… both…”

Sansa smiled softly.

“I should have told her how I felt long…long ago,” he confessed, his voice raspy and broken. Sansa tried to give him a drink of water, but he would not take it. “Now its too late…”

“It’s not too late, Pod, she will come back and see to you and then you can tell her…” Sansa said, wondering how she might help him, but having no idea what to do.

“Wasted so much time…” Pod mumbled, “So much time…”

Tears stung Sansa’s eyes once more, “You still have time Pod…”

Pod managed to look at her then through hazy, fever-stricken eyes, “Wasted so much time…” he was delirious, and it was not long until his eyes drifted closed, and he was asleep. 

Sansa was not sure how much time had passed, but the door opening startled her, and she looked up to see Mya, entering the cottage with Sam beside her. Just outside the door, a respectful distance away, stood Jon looking in at her, but making no move to interrupt them. Sansa stood. Sam looked at her gravely and patted her arm.

“I don’t think Nan has much time left…” said Sam, “You may want to go and say your goodbyes.”

Sansa’s heart was breaking.

“Mya and I will see to Pod.”

More tears fell, and she looked up at Jon, who was still standing out in the rain, his worried gaze fixed on her. How many more did she have to lose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Sad times, Heartbreaks, and Jon and Sansa start to have some honest talks


	39. The Angel of Death (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Capturing the right emotion in this chapter, was incredibly difficult. I hope it turned alright and that everyone enjoys, even though it is a rather sad chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments!

Sansa stepped out of Podrick’s cottage. Jon looked at her with rain dripping down his face, plastering his beautiful dark curls to his forehead and neck. There was a sadness in his eyes, a heaviness, as if he bore the weight of the entire world upon his shoulders. Sansa looked back through the door to the cottage to see Mya kneeling beside Podrick, mopping his brow with a cloth. Tears stung Sansa’s eyes. She looked back at Jon. She wanted to hold tight to her anger towards him, it made her feel safer, and yet with all the death and dying all about them, what quarrels truly mattered? For a moment, Sansa thought of her mother. A devout woman, Caitlyn Stark had often put her children to bed while reading scriptures, Marya’s words last week had reminded her of it… _Love is patient, love is kind_ … Sansa did not remember the words correctly, she knew, but the heart was there. She and Jon stared at each other. Slowly… hesitantly, he offered her his hand. She stared at it. All this death surrounding them threatened to break her, how many more dear ones would she be forced to lose? What did any quarrels matter now? Sansa looked up at Jon, he gave her a half smile, as they stood there in the rain. They had much to say to one another, and Sansa wondered if they would ever find the courage to say it. She looked once more back at Mya and Podrick, who may very well never have the chance to say what was in their hearts. Sansa took Jon’s hand. He released a breath it seemed he had been holding, and together, in silence, they walked toward Nan’s house. For a moment, the quarrel did not matter.

Nan’s house provided refuge from the rain but not from the grief that seemed to await around every corner of this night. Gilly was there and she came to Sansa’s side as soon as they entered the cottage. Nan was deathly quiet on her little bed and the fire was roaring.

“Is she…?” Sansa asked, unable to say the words, as she looked at Nan but clasped Gilly’s hand.

“No,” Gilly said softly, “But I’m afraid her time is near…”

Sansa looked about, “Where are the little ones?”

“I left them with our maid,” Gilly said, “It may be a long night yet, and we would not have Nan be alone.”

“No, she should not be alone,” Sansa whispered, and could feel Jon’s eyes on her as she went and knelt beside Nan’s bed. She took the old woman’s weathered hand in her own and looked at the dark spots and the skin sunk between the bones. These hands had been strong once and full of life.

“Lady Catelyn?” Nan mumbled as her eyes opened and fixed on Sansa’s red hair.

“I’m here, Nan,” Sansa said, not bothering to correct the her, as tears fell down her cheeks.

“Where’s that bonny husband of yours?” Nan asked, her voice weak and tired, but her words brought a smile to Sansa’s face.

“He’s here too, Nan,” Sansa whispered, and looked over at Jon who moved closer. He put a hand on Sansa’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, which caused another type of keen ache to radiate down to her heart.

“You have a redhaired bairn of your own now,” said Nan and Jon and Sansa looked at each, “Just like me wee one…”

“Yes, Robb and Sansa are redhaired,” Sansa said to Nan through her tears, remembering her brother and sister and thinking her heart might shatter, “But Arya… Arya looks like her father…”

“They’re all gone,” Nan continued incoherently, tears gathering, her eyes darting about the room fearfully.

Sansa had to bite back a sob, as she tried to soothe Nan, “Yes… they’re all gone now…” Sansa felt Jon’s hand on her shoulder again, “But it’s alright… we’ll see them again…”

“With the fairy?” Nan asked.

Sansa smiled through her tears, “Aye, with the fairy.”

Nan said her husband’s name then and seemed lost to another world. Sansa looked up at Jon, there were no tears, but she thought he might have the saddest eyes in the world.

They sat in tense silence for what felt like hours, each of them taking turns sitting beside Nan when she woke long enough to call out for them. The rain kept falling, soon joined by thunder and lightning and Sansa thought perhaps the angel of death truly haunted this place away up here in the Highlands. Sansa and Gilly sat at the little table, while Jon sat holding Nan’s hand and murmuring things to her that Sansa could not hear over the storm.

“She’s lived a full life,” said Gilly, with a quiet sort of resignation.

Sansa could only nod.

“She used to tell me wild stories of her childhood,” Gilly said with a fond smile, “I thought she was jesting with me, when she told me she was a girl during the Jacobite rising… said her father fought for the bonny prince…”

Sansa knew Nan was old but had never realized how old.

“Died for him too…” Gilly said, “Then her husband went off to fight in the American wars with your grandfather… but he came back…”

“Only to die later on…” Sansa said sadly.

“Aye, but they lived first…” Gilly smiled, “And that’s what’s important, don’t ye think?”

Sansa looked over at Jon who was whispering and smiling at Nan. He had even managed to draw a smile from the old woman, though she could barely move or open her eyes. She grew more still and quiet with each passing hour. Sansa felt sick to her stomach again, but tried to push it aside, not wanting to break the fragile peace amidst the pain.

“You look weary,” Gilly said softly to her.

“It has been a long and weary week,” Sansa replied, looking over at Jon and Nan once more, to see Jon stroking her hand. She wondered what he was telling her. He was speaking so softly, she could not make out his words over the roar of the rain and thunder outside. Both women were startled when the door opened, and in walked Sam looking grave, and completely soaked through. They all stood.

“Podrick?” Sansa asked, and she saw Jon give her soft look that she did not quite understand.

“Still with us,” Sam said, and the room seemed to release a sigh of relief. Sam though did not look adequately happy, and Sansa felt his words were about to be followed by some other news.

“What is it, Sam?” Jon urged; his thoughts appeared to be the same as her own.

“It’s… it’s Lyanna…” Sam stuttered, looking grief stricken. Sansa looked over at Jon and saw his face fall.

“She’s…” Jon started not seeming able to finish his thought.

“I don’t… I don’t… I don’t know that she is going to make it through the night,” Sam said, and Sansa saw tears fill his eyes, “I need to go back to her, but I wanted you all to know…”

Jon nodded, and looked back down at Nan.

“All her sisters are with her,” Sam said.

Jon nodded again, and patted Sam on the shoulder.

“How’s Nan?” he asked.

Gilly shook her head, “I do not think it will be long now…”

Sansa sank back into her chair. How many more did she have to lose? Would her father’s estate be only full of ghosts? When she looked at Jon, she found him studying her.

She was going to be sick… standing abruptly, Sansa pushed passed Sam, and stepped out into the rain to vomit. When it passed Sansa stood there for a moment, not sure how to carry the heavy weight that bore them down tonight… trying to suffocate them. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Jon.

“Let me take you home,” He said softly, “you’re ill.”

“No,” Sansa whispered, “We can’t leave Nan, we can’t leave her alone.”

“Sansa…”

“She does not have anybody, Jon,” Sansa said, looking Jon fully in the eyes for what felt like the first time in weeks, she remembered being ill once as a girl at the Baratheons and being left utterly alone with no one to care for her, “We can’t leave her…” Sansa felt her teeth start to chatter, “…Pl-please…”

Jon nodded, and drew her back inside the cottage, and pulled her toward the hearth. Sam came over to her and put a hand to her forehead, feeling for fever.

“I’m fine, Sam, you have patient’s in far more dire need than I,” Sansa protested.

“Have you any other symptoms?” Sam asked, ignoring her.

“No,” Sansa wrapped her arms around her middle, “I’m just tired, and anxious, and my stomach turned sour.”

Jon and Sam exchanged worried looks.

“I’m fine, truly, Sam, please go see to Lyanna,” Sansa said, looking down at the ground, not wanting to be fussed over.

With pursed lips and furrowed brow, Sam looked to Jon once more and nodded.

“I’ll return with news,” Sam said and disappeared out the door again after stealing a quick kiss from Gilly.

Jon was looking down at her and he reached out to touch her cheek. Instinctively, Sansa flinched away… she had thought that habit broken… but it seemed to creep back every so often. Without saying a word, Jon reached for his coat that had been drying by the fire. He felt it and when he seemed satisfied that it was dry, he brought it over to her and wrapped it around her. She looked up at him, and their eyes met. _Love is patient, love is kind_ … _love keeps no record of wrongs_ … Sansa nodded her thanks, as Jon resumed his place at Nan’s side. The old woman was silent now and had not spoken in some time. She was slipping from the world, and they all knew it. All they could do was watch and wait.

* * *

The sun rose and with it the rain stopped, and Old Nan was gone. Jon, and Sansa, and Gilly were there with her to the end, and she took her final breath. It was peaceful. It was time. Neither lessened the grief. It would always be strange watching someone die, the quiet feeling of helplessness before they took their final breath, to the uncertainty of what to do next after they have gone. Nan had been so kind to Sansa. She had been so lacking in kindness since she left Winterfell all those years ago, that she treasured it when she found it, especially when it was so freely given.

“Let me take you home, love,” Jon said, hesitantly reaching out to her, obviously afraid that she would shrink from him. _Love_ … did he love her?

She nodded, “Lyanna?” She was exhausted but wanted to know.

“Sam will bring us word…”

“Aye, I’ll see to it, Sansa,” Gilly assured, and then smiled a kind smile, “Let Jon take you home, you need to rest.”

Sansa nodded again, and allowed Jon to lead her, with an arm about her waist. Still, Jon shed no tears. She wondered how he stood so straight, face so impassive, after such a night as this had been. She could not ask. This was the closest they had been since the night before his trip, and his arm felt secure and warm around her waist, like it belonged there. She knew her anger was still there somewhere, as she had been using it like armor, but it seemed like she was defenseless… rubbed raw by the cruelty of life and death and reality.

They were quiet the entire walk home. Entering Winterfell, felt like entering a tomb, but the two dogs managed to coax a small smile to her face when they greeted them in the doorway. Lady stood on her little hindlegs clamoring for her attention, and promptly lost her balance and tumbled over. Smiling softly, Sansa picked the little pup up in her arms and held her close. Jon knelt and wrapped his arms around Ghost. Sansa was exhausted.

“There the two of ye be!” Cook exclaimed, “I was afeard the storm had taken ye!”

“We’re still here,” said Sansa.

“Though some are not so lucky,” said Jon.

Cook’s face fell, “Old Nan then?”

Jon nodded, “She’s gone.”

“T’was her time, no doubt,” said Cook grimly, “Does not make the passing any easier to bare. Well, the two of you look like drowned kittens, I’ll have the maid make baths up for ye.”

“Thank you, Cook,” Sansa offered a weak smile.

“Will you take breakfast at the table or in yer rooms?”

“Rooms,” replied Jon, and Sansa looked at him, somewhat taken aback. He did not want to break fast with her, and she did not blame him. She had been cold to him for a week, for which she had felt fully justified. He likely thought she never wanted to speak to him again. She thought of Podrick and Mya who let so much time and circumstance pass them by that they may very well lose their chance to know each other’s hearts. She nodded at Cook and made her way up the stairs with Lady in her arms and Ghost and Jon at her heels.

By the time Sansa had bathed and changed into a clean dressing gown, the maid brought up a tray of breakfast. Sansa could hear Jon pacing around the study. What was he doing when he needed to be resting? Biting back the part of her that wanted to remain hidden away from him, Sansa walked to the study door. Hesitating a moment, she cracked the door open, and peeked in. Jon looked up from his pacing and stopped and looked at her. He had been so quiet all night.

“Jon,” She said softly, “What are you doing?”

“There’s work that needs doing,” Jon replied tersely.

Sansa stepped into the room, “Work can wait, you’ve been up all night. You need rest, we both do…”

Jon nodded, “I can’t rest, not when little Lyanna lay dying, not when my people are not taken care of…”

“Jon…” she interrupted softly.

“I’m trying to take care of your father’s estate, the best way I know how, now please leave me be!” Jon snapped.

She stood there somewhat stunned.

“I’m sorry,” He sighed, raking his hand through his hair.

She shrugged.

“I want to be a good steward of your father’s estate, Sansa,” Jon said, more gently this time, “This life… it was never meant to be mine… but I mean to do right by your father’s estate…and… and I mean to do right by you…”

“Am I a part of my father’s estate to you?” She asked gently, without malice, too tired to be angry but needing to know just the same.

He looked up at her, “You’ve been determined to misunderstand my every word since you learned the truth,” the words were soft, but they stung none the less.

“Not determined…” Sansa corrected, her grief somehow making the anger seem less loud. 

“Not determined?” Jon chuckled without mirth as if he did not believe her.

“For the last ten years, Jon, I’ve been overlooked, pushed aside, slapped, shouted at, lied to, and manipulated,” Sansa said, “All the while thinking that at best my father did not have the foresight to make provision for me or at worst that he did not care for me at all….”

Jon looked at her.

“When Jeyne Poole told me you had been keeping secrets of such import from me for the past months, I cannot help but think that you are just like everyone else who came before,” Sansa said, though she knew in her heart that he was different.

“It was never my intention to lie to you, or keep you in the dark,” Jon said, dropping the ledger he was holding onto the desk with a thud and rubbing his weary eyes.

“Then why did you?” Sansa asked.

“I told you once that I would not be like all the rest who came before, and I broke your trust, and I’m sorry,” Jon said with heartbroken eyes.

Sansa stepped a little closer to him, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I have naught but excuses,” said Jon.

“Help me understand, Jon,” Sansa demanded.

He looked at her, “Do you remember the day before our wedding, and we took a walk in the garden…?”

Sansa remembered… she remembered because he had offered to let her live there without wedding him. She nodded.

“All I ever wanted for you, Sansa, was to give you the little bit of freedom that was in my power to give,” He said, “You have had so few choices in your life, I knew that…. Still know that…” He looked at the ground, looking almost ashamed, “I did not tell you about the money I paid to Baelish because I did not ever want you to feel beholden to me, as if you did not have a choice.”

“And the dowry?” Sansa asked, calmly trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.

“I did not have answers for you, and I still don’t, I don’t know what happened to the money,” Jon admitted, “Perhaps if I had worked a little harder, or did more digging I could have figured out who stole it, and gotten it back for you somehow… if I had, maybe you could have been free of me, free to live your own life. Then time passed and it became another secret.”

 _Free of him?_ Sansa frowned, “Do you regret marrying me, Jon?”

“What?” Jon came to her then and put his hands on her arms, “God, no, no that’s not what I meant.”

“I would understand….” Sansa started, not actually sure that she would.

“Do you regret marrying me?” Jon asked.

She looked up at him, and then down at the floor, searching for the right words… wondering if she might ever truly be able to take her armor off.

“I care for you,” Sansa whispered.

He smiled almost sadly, but did not press the question, “I care for you too,” He rubbed her arm, “More than I thought I would in the beginning…”

Sansa nodded; she could understand that.

“I know my word may not mean much to you right now, but I promise to keep no more secrets,” Jon said firmly, “If you are willing to take a chance on me again.”

“No more secrets,” She confirmed and looked up at him.

“Aye, no more,” Jon said, “I know there is more to tell you, of Ygritte…”

“I should not have thrown her in your face, I know you had a life before me…” Sansa said.

“Still, you should know…of her and other things in my life,” Jon said, “I might not be able to say it all now…”

Sansa nodded, feeling uncertain where to go from this tentative reconciliation. She touched his arm, “I’m sure there are things we both need to say and ask one another.”

Jon nodded, and leaned down and she let her eyes flutter closed, as he kissed her forehead, “And we’ll learn to trust each other…”

 _Trust_ … it was a frightening thought, but she agreed, “Yes.”

They were silent for a few moments.

“I’m going to rest now,” Sansa said, “And you should do the same.”

“I need to finish some work,” Jon said.

Sansa nodded, wishing he did not feel the need to drive himself so.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked.

“Some, I imagine I’ll be fine by the morrow,” Sansa assured him. He looked her over, like he did not believe her. She turned to leave and taking one last look at him she retreated to her room.

* * *

Sansa did not know how long she slept, but when she woke her body ached, and her mouth was dry. Lady licked her nose and wagged her little tail. Sitting up, she took the pup in her arms, and padded with her bare feet to the study. Jon was not there, nor was Ghost. Looking out the window, she imagined it must be almost supper time. Pulling her dressing gown, tighter around her, she crept down the stairs. The house was eerily quiet. Even the staff seemed to have disappeared. Quietly, she turned the corner into the parlor and that is where she found Jon. The room was dim, and he sat in a chair with his head in one hand and a glass of Scottish whiskey hanging in the other. Ghost lay across his feet.

“Jon?” Sansa called, wondering if he had fallen asleep.

His head popped up, obviously not having heard her approach. He had tears in his eyes, and he rapidly tried to wipe them away like an ashamed little boy.

“Yes?” He asked, in a surprisingly even voice.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Sam was here… you missed him by maybe a half hour,” Jon said, looking away from her trying to compose himself.

Sansa felt her heart race in her chest, “Wh-what did he say?”

A few errant tears slipped down, Jon’s cheeks, “Its Lyanna… she’s… she’s gone…”

Sansa crumpled to the floor, and the two of them stared at each other in silence. It seemed the angel of death had not yet passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Aftermath of the Scarlet Fever and a few more tentative steps toward reconciliation 
> 
> ** Side Note: The quotations Sansa recalls from the Bible are not period accurate, as people of this period would have been using the King James Bible which used King James' English, which is a lot more wordy. I decided to have Sansa recall the quotation this way because first, it just flowed better and when Marya quoted it I was not thinking about the period translation of the text, and second, as Sansa is recalling them from a childhood memory, I do not think she would have remembered the exact quotation but rather the general feeling of the quotation. As my story is only marginally historically accurate at best, I hope you can overlook this slip in my historical accuracy.


	40. Other Loves (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a brief chapter, getting into Jon's world a bit. I will try to get some more up soon, as Jon and Sansa wrestled through their problems. Thanks for reading and for your kind comments!

They had buried both Old Nan and Lyanna today. Jon sighed sadly as he stood in the doorway of the Mormont home, having come to see to any needs of Alysanne and Dacey. Sansa had departed to go and check on Podrick. Jon had stayed behind to allow her whatever privacy she needed. He did not like that Sansa had come to the village with him, but he could not stop her after she had set her mind to it. When he woke this morning, he had gone into the study and had heard Sansa, in her room, retching again, she was showing no symptoms of the Scarlet Fever, but he did not want to further risk her catching it. She had insisted coming to Lyanna’s burial and checking on Podrick.

“So young,” said Sam with a heavy, weary sigh as he came to stand beside Jon. Alysanne sat in the corner watching them. Dacey had gone for a walk and had not come back.

Jon nodded.

“Alysanne, if you and Dacey have any needs, please send word to the castle,” Jon said.

Alysanne nodded sadly.

A somber veil had shrouded the whole village today. Five had died over the course of the last two weeks, but Sam said the illness was beginning to taper off. Jon could only hope no more caught it, and that those still struggling with it would be the last. A famine could be remedied by food, a draught by water, an attack by protection, but there was nothing Jon could do to save his people from an illness with no cure. Lyanna had been a little girl when he had first met her, perhaps 8 years old, and she had taken an almost instant liking to him and him to her. She was so fierce for one so small, and Jon had loved her like a little sister. The Mormont girls all had been dear friends, but Lyanna had been special.

“We’ll not see their like again I expect,” Jon said softly to Sam. Sam only shook his head and put a hand to Jon’s shoulder.

Leaving the family to their grief, Jon and Sam strode out together and walked toward Podrick’s home.

“You and Sansa need to go back to the castle today, and not come back down to the village until the fever is gone,” Sam said sternly, “You have been far too exposed as it is.”

Jon nodded, and yawned, he had not slept well last night thinking of Lyanna, and Nan, and Podrick… and Sansa. In spite of their tentative reconciliation, she had not invited him back to her room and he had not asked, not wanting to push for more than she was willing to give. He was content for now to be on talking terms, though they still had much to say to each other.

“Have you given any more thought to running for magistrate?” Sam asked.

“Sam we’ve been over this… more than once I believe,” Jon said in exasperation. Once Sam took hold of an idea, he did not let it go easily.

“I’ll keep asking until the deal is closed,” Sam chuckled.

Jon shook his head in amusement, in no mood to argue with his friend, who was also tired and worn from the last few weeks.

“I cannot imagine a world where Roose Bolton is allowed to administer justice,” Sam said as they approached Podrick’s home.

It was a world Jon could scarcely imagine, but Jon did not believe himself an able judge of men, nor did he believe that a young man such as himself could beat out an older man, more established in the community like Roose Bolton. Jon wanted to raise sheep, and children, and sleep at night with Sansa in his arms, and he would be content. He sought a simple life, and yet the infinite complexities of town constantly haunted him.

The door to Podrick’s home was open, as were the windows, obviously letting the fresh cool breeze inside to air out the cottage. Mya Stone was working at the kitchen table, and Sansa was sitting beside Podrick’s bed, speaking softly. Jon stopped, not wanting to intrude.

“Is he going to survive?” Jon asked, sadly.

Sam peered through the door, where their arrival was still unnoticed.

“I think he has good prospects,” Sam said, “There are never guarantees, but he seemed more alert yesterday and this morning.”

Jon nodded. As much as he wanted to pick Sansa up, throw her over his shoulder, and take her where he could keep her safe, he would not. He would give her the time she needed.

“Are you coming inside?” Sam asked, as he started toward the door, but noticed Jon’s hesitation.

Jon shook his head, “I don’t want to interrupt…”

Sam gave him an odd look, but Jon did not elaborate. What could he say? He feared Sansa loved Podrick, and he was not sure he could watch his sweet wife grieve for another man, but neither would he deny her the chance to say goodbye if a goodbye was necessary. Sam entered, and he saw Sansa’s head pop up from where she was tending Podrick and her eyes found Jon’s, and she relinquished her task to Sam. Sansa came out to him. She looked as weary as he felt.

“If you feel you need to stay…” Jon started but not sure where he was going with the statement.

“No, Sam is here and Mya,” Sansa said, “They do not need me underfoot. I’ve done what I can.”

Jon nodded, and tentatively offered her his hand.

She gave him a gentle smile and took his hand.

They started to walk toward the castle in a companionable silence. Occasionally, Jon stroked his thumb across her knuckles as he held her hand and he wondered if she liked his touch, or if she accepted it simply for his sake. He wondered if he would ever know.

“So much death and pain in the world, shall it never end?” Sansa said softly, almost to herself.

Jon knew she did not seek an answer, it was a question that did not have answer. The irony that only death brought an end to death and pain was not lost on either of them. They had both known their share of death.

“I used to ask myself the same question in the army,” Jon confessed.

“Were you terribly unhappy in the army?” Sansa asked, looking down at the road in front of them.

“I was at first, but I grew to accept it,” Jon said, “Just as I had learned to accept my life with my family, and besides, I was luckier than most.”

“Luckier?” Sansa looked at him, with a deep frown.

“Aye, I always had food and clothes and a roof over my head, so many have far less,” Jon replied, stroking his thumb across her knuckles again, “And in the army I had position, though a boy my age had no business being an officer, but the commission was purchased nonetheless. I had everything I needed.”

“Did you?” Sansa pressed.

 _Did he?_ Jon sighed. He supposed there were things he had missed, things he lacked. He had known no mother, and what he remembered of his father was at best coldness and indifference. A lord like Rhaegar Snow, Lord Targaryen, had little need or use for a second son. Jon had always known he had been unwanted… Just as he knew he had been unwanted in the home of his Uncle Viserys, and the few other relatives with whom he had briefly sojourned.

“I knew nothing else,” Jon finally replied, “And so I did not know I was lacking…”

Sansa looked at him then, with the saddest eyes he had ever seen on her.

Jon chuckled, trying to brush off her concern, not wanting to be fretted over or pitied, anymore than she did, “One cannot miss what one never had…” He looked at the dirt and kicked a rock.

“Do you feel lacking now?” Sansa asked.

Jon was not sure where this sudden interrogation was coming from, but part of him wished she would cease her prodding of his most tender wounds. Jon smiled pleasantly, trying to alleviate the tension “How could I?” He asked, “When I have a home like Winterfell, good and loyal friends, and a beautiful and sweet wife who will be the mother of my children?”

She blushed prettily at his words and looked at away.

He did not know if she wanted him in her bed again, but he treasured the few times they had been together as husband and wife… her sweet sighs and the way she clung to him so trustingly would haunt his dreams, if she did not want him again. He wondered if he had already gotten her with child, and the thought both made his heart swell with pride and pound in fear. He wanted children, and yet, what did he know about being a father?

“Did you and Ygritte ever discuss children?” She asked softly.

The question startled him, but he would give her the answers that she sought, “No. In truth, Ygritte and I hardly spoke of marriage, or the future at all.”

“Never?” She looked skeptical.

Jon shook his head, “Not that I recall,” Jon could not imagine Ygritte mothering children… even had they been allowed to continue their affair, they had been poorly suited… it had taken a few years for Jon to come to that understanding. He had loved Ygritte, and she him, but they would not have been able to build a life together.

“But you loved her?” Sansa asked.

Sighing, Jon stroked her hand again. He wondered if the possible death of the man she loved was prompting these questions about his own dead lover.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, and he could see her starting to withdraw within herself again, as she used to do in the early days of their marriage.

“Aye, I loved her,” Jon admitted, “But I was a boy, barely old enough to know what love was at all.”

Sansa nodded.

“Had I been older and more sure of myself and my place in the world, I would never have allowed myself to form such a reckless attachment,” Jon said, raking his free hand through his hair, “We were both fools to think that it could ever be, though I think we both partly knew it couldn’t, and that was why we never spoke of the future.”

“What… what happened to her?” Sansa pressed, hesitantly.

“My brother Aegon and my Aunt Dany were very close, Aegon was always a favorite,” Jon said bitterly, “Aegon knew of my attachment to Ygritte, who was a chambermaid in my uncle’s home, and when he realized I was quite serious about my feelings for her, he told Dany, and Dany told Viserys.”

“He betrayed your trust?”

“Aegon has never been particularly trustworthy,” Jon said, “And I think, though he has never admitted it, that he was always bitter toward me because our father was secretly courting my mother, while Aegon’s mother was dying.”

“What happened to Ygritte?” She asked, and the gentleness in her voice nearly undid him.

“Viserys fired her, and threw her out of the house, and I was packed off into the army,” Jon said, his voice thick with emotion, “I later found out that she died of consumption in a poor house in Edinburgh.”

“You could not go after her?”

“I chose my family…” Jon sighed, “I chose duty over her… I… I chose Winterfell…” Jon stroked her hand, “I shouldn’t have loved her, and I shouldn’t have left her, and sometimes there are no happy choices, only ones less grievous than others that we have to learn to live with.”

Sansa’s eyes were sad, “Do you regret it?”

Jon looked at Sansa then, pausing as they had arrived at the door of their castle, “I regret that she died because of me, that she lost her place in the world and her reputation because of my indiscretion. But no, I do not regret the choice itself and what it led me too.”

Sansa only nodded and pressed no further.

They entered the castle and a maid hurriedly brought Jon a letter, and scurried from the entry way, as the two dogs barreled in to greet their masters. Jon opened the letter, from Mr. Manderly, and scanned its contents. He saw Sansa glance at him, but she did not ask.

“It’s from Manderly,” Jon offered.

“What does he want?” Sansa asked, “Having another ball?”

Jon chuckled, and handed the letter to her to read. Her eyes quickly absorbed it.

“He wants you to run for magistrate,” Sansa said simply.

Jon nodded, and started toward the dining room with her on his heels. Jon was not sure what to make of Manderly’s letter. Support from Manderly would carry weight in the community… but it was a support that Jon did not want. Why could people not leave them alone?

“This is good, isn’t it?” Sansa asked.

Jon looked up at her, from where he had bent to pet Ghost, “I’m sure Sam will see it that way.”

“And you don’t?” Sansa prodded, as she seemed keen to do today.

“I’ve no interest in being magistrate,” Jon said standing.

Sansa glared at him with a reproachful look in her eyes.

“What?” Jon retorted.

“Nothing,” said Sansa as she picked up Lady and cuddled her.

God, he was weary… lack of sleep and sheer exhaustion had shortened his patience, “I cannot read your mind any more than you can mine, Leannan, if ye have something to say, you may as well say it.”

Sansa pursed her lips and seemed to weigh her words, “I think you should.”

“Should what?”

“Run for the magistrate’s seat,” Sansa clarified.

Sighing deeply, Jon frowned, “Now you…”

“Now me?”

“First Sam and Davos, and now you,” Jon said simply, retreating to the dining room hoping that supper was nigh.

“My father had a seat on the magistrate’s bench as far back as I remember…”

“I’m not your father,” Jon snapped, more harshly than he meant too.

She clapped her mouth shut, and her eyes narrowed, “I’m aware.”

They stared at each other.

“What do you want from me, Sansa?” Jon asked, his exhaustion and grief getting the better of him.

“I want you to be the Lord of Winterfell,” She said firmly and simply.

He sighed, “I’m not the man your father was, and I never will be.”

Sansa cross her arms over her chest and leveled him with a cool glare, “Well, you will certainly be lesser, if you allow a man like Roose Bolton to win that seat without putting up any kind of fight.”

Jon looked at the ground. Could he be enough for her as he was? Who he was?

They continued to stare at each other, until Jon turned away.

“You want to discuss this now, right after burying Lyanna and Old Nan?” Jon asked, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“I’m just pointing out the very simple fact that you are a much better candidate for that seat than Roose Bolton,” Sansa said firmly.

Jon nodded, wearily, and began to walk up the stairs. He could hear her footsteps behind him. The chasm between them seemed to widen once more.


	41. Sharp Tongues and Tender Thoughts (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit, as our two lovebirds take a few more little steps forward. I hope everyone enjoys!

Sansa lay in bed as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, cursing her sharp tongue. She had no appetite for breakfast and knew Jon was already up and about his day. She had heard his footsteps and deep sighs in the study. He sighed a lot, often looking so weary that he might fall asleep on his feet. Last night, she had heard him dreaming, having a nightmare no doubt. His days in the army haunted him, she knew. _Bayonets in the dark_ … he had said. Sansa recalled seeing the heartbreaking evidence on his chest, and that one particular scar frighteningly close to his heart. Rolling onto her side to cuddle Lady closer, Sansa sighed and cursed her sharp tongue and quick temper once again. Over the years since her father’s death, she had learned to bite her tongue and curb her temper, out of self-preservation if nothing else. Both Aunt Lysa and Mrs. Baratheon would have given her a backhand for any cheek that she thought she might give them. They had given her the back of their hand for less. She had learned to control herself, but Jon seemed able to rile her, to rattle her carefully constructed armor until all she could do was lash out at him like a wounded animal. Perhaps she was… perhaps they both were?

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” Sansa said tentatively, at first thinking it was Jon, but Jon was more likely to knock on the study door than the main door. It must be a maid, and a maid it was.

“Mistress Tarly is here to see you ma’am,” said the maid.

“Thank you, I’ll be down directly,” Sansa said, standing to her feet and trying to push aside the roll of her stomach when she stood, and trying to ignore what she thought it may mean.

After dressing herself in a simple frock and braiding her long red hair over her shoulder, Sansa scurried down the hall toward the stairs with Lady at her heels. As she neared the door leading to the castle turret, the door swung open and she did not have time to stop before she walked straight into Jon. He caught her by the arms and chuckled.

“What’s your hurry, lass?” He asked.

Sansa looked up at him, and for a few moments they stared at each other in the awkward silence that seemed to pervade their every interaction of late. He smiled softly at her, and Sansa offered him a small smile in return. He reached out and slowly tucked a stray red curl behind her ear.

“Your hair is pretty this way,” He said.

Sansa felt her cheeks blush at the simple compliment. His quiet sincerity tended to do that to her. Sansa combed her fingers through the ends of her braid and gnawed her lower lip.

“Thank you,” She finally said.

Jon smiled that endearing, crooked smile of his which always did strange things to her heart. He had his own beautiful curls tied back in a knot at the back of his head, and though she liked his hair this way during the day, she could not help but think about how soft those curls were when she had run her fingers through them in their bed... her bed. The thought likely turned her cheeks even redder.

“You slept late, are you feeling well?” Jon asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” She replied looking down at the floor.

“You haven’t been well for a few days now; do you want me to call for Sam?” Jon asked in concern. How had he any time to notice that she had not been well the last few days?

“No,” She snapped, not wanting to be fussed over. She was fine… was she not?

“You’ve been heaving up everything you put in your mouth for near on a week.”

“You’ve been keeping track then?” She snapped, and once again cursed her wretched tongue.

“No, just noticed is all,” Jon quickly brushed a gentle finger down her cheek, “I don’t like seeing your cheeks so pale…”

“There’s nothing wrong with me…”

“Sansa…” Jon tried to interject.

“Gilly’s downstairs,” Sansa said quickly

“Aye, sorry,” Jon said, closing the turret door, “I’ll not hold ye up.”

Sansa nodded, and darted away from his scrutiny.

She found Gilly in the parlor, with no little ones about her, to Sansa’s surprise. The two women embraced.

“Feeling well? No sore throat or fever?” Gilly asked in concern.

“None,” said Sansa.

“Good, Sam and I both fear for how exposed to the illness the two of you were,” Gilly said, patting Sansa’s arm, “You do look rather pale though.”

“I’m fine,” Sansa tried to assure. Did she really look so sickly?

Gilly smiled some smile that Sansa did not quite understand, “I’ve left the children with our maid for the morning and hoped you might like to spend the morning with me.”

“I’d be happy to,” Sansa loved Gilly and wished that motherhood did not keep her so preoccupied. Perhaps one day their babes might play together… Sansa pushed the thought aside not wanting to think too hard on the very matter that made her toss and turn last night.

“Ladies,” Jon greeted, interrupting them.

“Jon, I’m going to steal your wife for the day,” Gilly announced, and Jon smiled.

“As long as you bring her back in one piece,” He chuckled.

Sansa smiled and looked at the floor.

“Is Sam about?” Jon asked Gilly.

“He’s in the village tending to the last of the sick, the fever is abating but there are still a few ill,” Gilly said, “Sam thinks Podrick Payne is on the mend.”

Jon shifted on his feet and looked briefly at Sansa, “That’s good news.”

“Indeed,” Gilly looked between the two of them and once again Sansa could not discern her look.

“Well, I’ll leave the two of you to your day,” Jon nodded and made a hasty retreat.

Gilly looked at Sansa then.

“Is something wrong?” She asked.

Sansa glanced out the window to see Jon’s strong form striding across the courtyard, greeting, and drawing smiles from staff who were going about their day. They all respected him. Jon was a great leader of men, and Sansa wished he could see past his own insecurities to believe such a thing about himself.

“Nothing is wrong,” Sansa said.

Gilly pursed her lips and looked at Sansa out of the corner of her eye, “I can see plain as day that something is awry.”

“Jon and I… we’ve struggled these last weeks,” Sansa said, as she followed Gilly out the door, and they started toward the road.

“Well dealing with a rampant fever can be trying to the nerves…” said Gilly.

“It wasn’t the fever,” Sansa said softly, “Some of it was my fault and some of it was his… but we cannot seem to have a conversation these days which does not end in a quarrel.”

“Ah,” Gilly said, “So the first months of marital bliss have passed, and now the real work begins.”

“I’m not sure that we were blissfully wed before,” Sansa snorted.

Gilly chuckled, “Perhaps not, but still you are more used to each other now, and not walking on your toes around each other so much. Jon’s as stubborn as a pig and as sullen as the grave and I imagine with that hair of yours, that you have a temper to match.”

Sansa smiled and looked down at the ground in embarrassment with Gilly’s keen perceptions.

“Two strong minded people are bound to quarrel,” Gilly said, “Sam and I quarrel, and I love him still. You see, we sharpen each other, we’re better people for loving each other.”

Sansa smiled at the description, but felt her heart grow curiously sad, “Jon and I are not in love.”

“Do you really think that is true?”

Sansa thought of Jon’s words about duty, “I’m little more than a responsibility to him.”

“Maybe in the beginning, when he did not know you… but I’ve seen the way he looks at you now… and for that matter I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Gilly grinned like she knew a secret, “It’s to be expected with an arrangement such as yours that you would have issues to work through, maybe some very hurtful ones, maybe even some that you need to be angry about… as Old Nan was fond of saying, love t’isn’t all sweet kisses in the dark.”

 _Love is patient, love is kind… love keeps no record of wrongs_ … Sansa felt tears well in her eyes at the mention of Old Nan, and wanted to curse her own tender heart, as it had brought her nothing but pain through the years.

“I’ve found a patch of wildflowers that I think you’d be quite fond of,” Gilly said, changing the subject much to Sansa’s relief, and leading them off the beaten road and into one of the fields.

Gilly led her to a patch of wildflowers, full of blues and yellows and whites and purples. Sansa could not help but feel livened by them. She had always loved wildflowers.

“Soon winter will come,” said Gilly, “Best we get our fill of wildflowers now while we can.”

Sansa picked a thistle, “I always thought the thistle was such a strange little flower.”

Gilly chuckled, “Aye, I suppose it is, but it’s a hardy little thing.”

“I much prefer the heather,” Sansa knelt into a patch of heather and gently touched them, “They both feel so much like home. For so long it seemed like I had no home… sometimes I still do…”

“Scotland will always be your home,” said Gilly with a smile, “And Winterfell… and Jon…”

Could Jon be her home? Could a person be a home? Sansa looked down at the heather and sighed.

“Have you told Jon yet?”

Sansa looked up at Gilly from where she knelt, “Told Jon what?”

“About the bairn you are carrying,” Gilly said straightforwardly.

Sansa stood and dusted off her dress, “There’s no bairn… its much too soon to know…”

“Aye, maybe, but I think you suspect,” Gilly said, leveling her with her eyes.

Sansa swallowed hard; she was not ready to voice her suspicions.

“I’ve carried two myself and helped both Marya and Sam in the birthing of others,” Gilly said, “I know the signs well enough.”

Still, Sansa said nothing, only looked down at the dirt, “Jon and I… we only… only a few times…”

Gilly gave her a gentle smile, “Sometimes, Sansa, all it takes is once.”

Mouth in a grim line, Sansa nodded just as a fresh set of tears welled in her eyes. She so rarely cried before coming back here, and now it seemed that once her tears were loosened, they would not stop. Gilly came to her side and stroked her arm.

“It’s a good thing, yes?” Gilly asked in concern, “You wanted a babe?”

“Yes,” Sansa sniffled.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“What if… what if Jon isn’t happy?” Sansa managed to say between huffs of breath as she tried to quell her tears, “We’ve been so… so cold to each other…”

Gilly gave her a gentle smile, “He’ll be happy.”

“How do you know?” Sansa asked, remembering once when Mrs. Baratheon had feared herself pregnant and Mr. Baratheon had gotten angry. They had always been fighting, and a babe was not welcome. Would Jon welcome a babe when all they seemed to do is quarrel recently?

Gilly patted her arm, “Tell him, Sansa, and let him prove it.”

“I’m not even sure if I am with child…” Sansa looked down at the ground.

“Sansa…” Gilly started to interrupt.

“Its too soon to know…” Sansa insisted.

Gilly pursed her lips and did not argue.

* * *

Sansa spent the whole day with Gilly, after picking flowers and walking to town to the drapers, she went back to the Tarly’s and played with the children and took supper with them. Sam brought news that Podrick was much improved and was certain that he would live. The sun had set by the time Sansa thought she should be going home. Jon would worry. Sam drove her home in their cart and let her out at the door of the castle. It was well after dark now and so Sansa crept warily through the door and into the quiet house. She stumbled upon Jon in the parlor. He was sitting, watching the fire flicker, and he looked so tired and sad, and she was realizing that that had been a common look on his face since she had met him but since Lyanna’s death, the sadness had multiplied as had his silence. She wondered if he was angry with how late she was without having told him of her whereabouts, but he seemed lost in thought.

“Jon…?” She started, not truly sure what she wanted to say.

His head snapped up, and he gave her a weary smile. God, he looked tired. Had he been sleeping at all?

“I’m sorry I was out so late, I hope you did not worry,” Sansa offered.

“There’s no need to apologize, you are free to come and go as you please, Sansa,” Jon said, almost irritably.

“Are you angry?” She had to ask.

“No.”

“You sound upset,” Sansa said.

Jon scrubbed his hands down his face, “I just wish that you felt free here, you do not have to report to me. I am happy to know your whereabouts so I that I know you are safe, but I never want you to feel the need to apologize for doing as you will. You are free, Sansa, you know that, right?”

His voice was soft and sad.

Sansa nodded, trying to process his words.

“I don’t want to be like the others…”

“Others?” Sansa asked, though she knew what he meant.

“The others who have mistreated you…” Jon clarified, “You’re your own woman, you are not property, and your thoughts and your feelings… your needs and desires… they matter…”

Sansa nodded again.

“I’m sorry if I have ever made you feel that they didn’t…” Jon continued, still looking into the fire.

“Being here… with you… it’s the freest I’ve been in a very long time…” Sansa confessed, not sure what else to say.

“You’ve been ill, Sansa, I know you have,” Jon said, “Do you need to see a physician? Its not a problem if you do, your needs are not a problem.”

Sansa shifted uncomfortably on her feet, “I’m fine, Jon,” there was nothing wrong with her, her stomach had merely been sour.

He nodded looking very much like he did not believe her, which rankled her.

“And do you know that your needs matter, Jon?” Sansa turned the conversation around, deflecting the attention away from her.

He looked at her for a moment before looking down into the fire once more.

“You’ve run yourself ragged trying to help people, and yet, you look as if you have not slept in days…”

“You needn’t fret over me,” Jon said, almost sharply.

“You fret over me, but I cannot fret over you?” Sansa snapped, “I thought we were supposed to take care of each other, to be each other’s comfort? Instead, I am your duty, and you behave as if you are alone in the world.”

He looked up at her, his eyes young and vulnerable, like a lost little boy, “You are much more than a duty to me, but you are determined that our marriage should be nothing more.”

“I’m determined?” Sansa hissed, “I am no more determined than you!” She did not want to hear that he imagined his feelings ran deeper for her, it was safer to believe he did not. In all truth, she was angry but had no idea why. Perhaps she was angry at the world? Angry that her parents were dead, angry that Lyanna and Nan were gone, angry that nothing in life had turned as she believed it would when she had been a child and still full of hope.

Jon rubbed his eyes but made no argument.

“You need to sleep!” Sansa retorted angrily.

“Aye,” Jon said softly, “The Bolton’s have begun evicting their tenants, and I had to turn away so many today looking for work that I did not have to offer them, and I slept poorly last night.”

Sansa grew even angrier, if he continued to carry every grievance and burden around his shoulders, of not only himself, but the people of this county, he would drive himself into an early grave, “If you do not take care of yourself, you will not be able to help any of the people that you are so put upon to help!”

Jon stood then, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have carried the weight of this estate, and the burdens of these people, around your neck like a millstone, because you feel guilty that you inherited this estate!” Sansa said harshly, though she did not mean the words cruelly, and still they fell from her mouth like curses instead of the words of comfort she wanted to offer him.

“Aye, I do feel guilty, Sansa!” Jon growled, but still it was a confession, “I was never meant to have this life!”

“Robb and my father are gone, Jon Snow!” Sansa hurled back, “I loved them, and I miss them, but they are not here, you are!”

Jon looked at her, anger sparking in his eyes, “I feel like a thief, like I’ve robbed you and your family of your ancestral home and lands! Like I’m no better than Bolton evicting his tenants from lands their families have worked since the dawn of this country!”

“Jon Snow, if you think so meanly of yourself and so undeserving of this estate, perhaps you should go back to the army!” She did not mean the words even as they fell from her mouth, and he looked as if she had slapped him.

“Perhaps I will!” Jon snarled, and stormed out of the room.

Sansa wanted to throw something, or hit someone, or shake Jon until he woke from this stupor until he believed himself more than he thought. Stomping up the stairs, Sansa slammed the door to her room startling Lady who was curled up on the bed. As she began to unbraid her hair, her anger began to cool, and her wretched, tender heart began to soften. She did not want Jon to go back to the army, she could not bear to lose another person that she cared for… that she… that she… she could not think the word yet, she was not ready.

“Hello, my sweet Lady,” Sansa strode toward the bed and scratched the pup behind the ears, thinking of the delight on Jon’s face when he had brought the pup home for her. She had been so angry that day, that she had nearly missed the tender vulnerability in his eyes when he had thought she did not want the pup. She sat down on her bed and loosened her braid and began to unlace the shoes that Jon had insisted she buy that first week of their marriage. She recalled the way he had washed her feet that day when she had limped to the house on sore, blistered feet. _Love t’isn’t all sweet kisses in the dark_ , Old Nan said. Sansa thought of her mother and father, and all the ways she could remember that they had helped each other and loved each other. _Love is patient, love is kind… love keeps no record of wrongs_. Sansa took off her shoes and changed into her nightgown. Pacing her room, she listened for sounds of Jon in the study but heard none. She supposed he went to bed. Lady looked at her curiously.

Sansa recalled the day in the garden before their wedding when he had offered her freedom from him, she had not known about the money he had paid to Baelish at the time, and yet he offered her freedom still. Sansa’s heart softened further, though she wanted to hang on to her anger for his keeping secrets from her. Anger felt safer, and yet she felt it slipping from her. Taking a breath, Sansa strode to the study door and threw it open. Before she could stop herself, she marched across the study to his bedroom door. She had not been inside his bedroom since their wedding night. Would he welcome her? She paused, having no idea what she intended to do or say. Perhaps she should just go back to her room and to bed? Sansa shook her head and gathered her courage… and opened the door. Jon was sitting up in bed, shirtless, going over his damn ledgers. He looked up at her, his eyes startled to see her. Silently, for she still had no words, she took a step forward. What could she say? They stared at each other, as she walked softly to his side of the bed, hesitant, afraid he might send her away and she would feel a fool in the morning. He said nothing. They looked at each other, but he did not send her away. Slowly, Sansa climbed onto the bed and threw her leg over his lap. He looked surprised but did not protest. She wrapped her arms around him, and lay her cheek against his warm, bare shoulder and hugged him. He was tense for a moment, before his arms came around her as well and Sansa released a breath of relief. Silently, they held each other.


	42. To Begin Again (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little chapter, it picks up right where the last one left off. I hope everyone enjoys!

Sansa turned her head, her face now pressed to the curve of his neck and shoulder. Jon held her, unsure what to make of her appearance in his room. She had not been in his room since their wedding night. They had not been this close to each other in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, finally breaking their silence.

“Sansa…” He started to interrupt.

“Forgive me?” She repeated.

Jon smiled softly and stroked the palm of his hand up and down her spine.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Jon said evasively. Her words in the parlor had hurt him more than he was willing to admit, but he was not entirely sure how to accept an apology, having never been offered one so sincerely for words so damaging.

“But there is,” She insisted, “I was cruel, and I did not mean what I said, I don’t want you to go back to the army. I want you here… where… where you belong.”

Where he belonged? Jon held her a little tighter, did he belong here? He had never truly belonged anywhere. Jon brushed some hair away from her face, and tried to look at her, but her face was still pressed to his neck.

“Aye, I forgive you,” He said.

“I don’t want you to go back to the army.”

Jon smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her hair, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

She nodded.

They sat there for a while longer still wrapped up in each other, with Jon stroking her back until he wondered if she had fallen asleep. She was the only person he could remember in his life, who had offered him such comfort and tenderness. He and Ygritte had never had the time to develop such intimacy, young and reckless and brief as they were. Jon thought he might be content to hold Sansa like this forever. Jon shifted, thinking her to be asleep, trying to think of how he might lay her on the bed without waking her.

She, however, was not asleep, “Do you want me to go back to my room?” She asked hesitantly, lifting her head from its resting place on his shoulder.

“No,” Jon assured, “I want you to sleep here… if you want.”

Sansa nodded, and moved off his lap. He immediately missed her warmth. Tucking her feet under the blankets, she lay her head on the pillow and looked at him until he settled beside her. There was a little yip from the floor and Jon looked down to see Lady staring up at them.

“Go sleep with Ghost, Lady,” Jon shooed her, but the pup only barked at him.

Sansa giggled sweetly, “She needs to say goodnight.”

Jon laughed, “Truly?”

“Yes,” Sansa said, quite seriously but with her eyes twinkling.

Shaking his head, Jon reached down and picked Lady up, and put her on the bed so that she could lick Sansa’s nose. Sansa laughed like a little girl, and it made a strange ache erupt in Jon’s heart as he considered how young she was and how her youth was so robbed from her. He supposed youth was robbed from both of them.

“You have to sleep with Ghost now,” Sansa told the pup firmly, giving her one last kiss on the top her fluffy head and handing her back to Jon. He put Lady back on the floor, and she growled at him.

“To Ghost,” Jon pointed, and Lady yipped again.

“She’ll settle, Jon,” Sansa assured sleepily, tugging on his arm.

Jon nodded, and laid down beside Sansa. She was on her side facing him, and so he mirrored her. She was gnawing on her lower lip.

“I… I don’t know where to go from here,” She confessed.

Jon took a breath, and reached up and stroked a finger down her soft cheek, “Nor I, Leannan, but we will begin again from here… build something together…” Jon wanted to say _love_ but was not sure she would welcome such a word right now, “… brick by brick…”

“Brick by brick,” She agreed.

Slowly, hoping she would not shrink from him, he drew her into his arms, and she relaxed against him with her head pillowed on his chest.

“Let’s sleep,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

* * *

The morning sun roused Jon from sleep, and he realized he had slept through the whole night without waking to a nightmare or a worry. Looking over, he saw Sansa’s serene face still sleeping beside him. He slept better when she was in bed with him. He did not know why. Drawing the blankets tighter around them, Jon moved a little closer to her, and watched her face. She was lovely in the waking hours, but there was something so peaceful and unguarded about her in sleep. He was sure he had never seen any one quite so beautiful as Sansa. Her eyes fluttered open as if she could sense him staring at her, and he shifted awkwardly under the blankets, having been caught out.

“Good Morning,” She whispered.

“Good Morning,” Jon grinned, and touched his forehead to hers, testing to see how close she would allow him to get. The lowered inhibitions of morning made him bolder. Her delicate fingers came up and stroked his beard. He brushed his nose against hers. Her eyes closed for a moment.

Before Jon made any further move, he needed to know, for his own heart’s sake, and so he gathered his courage and opened his mouth, “Have you forgiven me?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could retract them. He felt her body tense and she went deathly silent. Jon thought his heart might stop as he waited for her to reply.

Finally, Sansa nodded.

“I… I…” Jon hesitated, “I need to hear it too, love.”

“I forgive you, Jon,” She whispered, her eyes opening to look at him.

“Truly?” He asked seriously. His need for reassurance seemed to pain her, but he was not quite sure how to interpret that pain.

“Yes,” Sansa said, her eyes fixing on his chest, “I’ve become so accustom to wearing my anger and bitterness like armor, it felt safer somehow…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, “Sometimes it still feels safer…”

Jon nodded, he understood that more than she realized, “I want you to be able to trust me, Sansa, I know we’ve gotten off to a rocky start in that regard, but I hope you will give me the chance to earn that trust again.”

She nodded.

“I want you to feel safe enough with me that you don’t have to wear armor,” Jon said, brushing his nose against hers again, wanting so badly to kiss her.

“Do you feel safe enough with me to share your burdens with me?” Sansa asked honestly and gently.

Jon smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, “Perhaps we can help each other in that regard?”

“I cannot promise to never be angry again,” She said with a twinkle in her eye.

Jon grinned, “Nor I, but I think we can both agree to do better, yes?”

She looked up at him then, “Yes.”

Threading his fingers into her hair, Jon slowly inclined his head, giving her time to withdraw if she so wished, but she continued to stare at him, as he pressed his lips to hers. Gentle and coaxing, Jon deepened the kiss, and groaned as he felt her respond to the kiss with tentative exploration as she had never done in the past. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. She was shaking and, in the past, he had interpreted that as fear. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes.

“Sansa,” Jon said gruffly.

She was staring at him, her eyes wide and dark. Taking his hand in hers, she gnawed on her lower lip, and placed his hand on her belly. Taking that as encouragement, he kissed her again until she pushed at his shoulder.

“Jon, I….” She started keeping her fingers threaded with his over her belly, but her sentence was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Jon groaned; he did not want to get up. He wanted to lay here with Sansa, and touch her and kiss her… and _love_ her…

“Mr. Davos is here for you, sir,” said a maid from the other side of the thick wooden door, “Says you and he had an early appointment.”

“Thank you,” Jon called back, “I’ll be down presently.”

“Yes, sir,” said the maid, and they were quiet until they could no longer hear the footsteps in the hallway.

Jon looked at Sansa, who seemed to have something pressing on her mind. Perhaps it was his imagination? He stole another kiss, which made her smile. Sitting up, Jon gave her knee a squeeze over the blankets.

“No need to rush, you can sleep longer if you wish,” Jon said, tucking the blanket tighter around her, knowing how cold she often got.

“No, the day has started, and I do not need to lounge around like a lady of leisure,” Sansa chuckled as she sat up.

Leaning toward her, Jon kissed her again, “You can be a lady of leisure if you wish it,” He teased.

She playfully rolled her eyes and shook her head at him as she hugged her knees, “I do not think you would appreciate a lazy wife.”

Jon laughed, “Perhaps not. Do you want to come to town with Davos and I?”

“No, you go on without me, I have ledgers to tend to today, and Cook and I will be making a plan for winter stores, and doing other things expected of the Lady of the house,” Sansa smiled playfully at him, but there was something in her eyes that said she had more on her mind than ledgers and menus.

Deciding it would have to keep for later, Jon put his feet on the floor and was immediately growled at by Lady.

“I’m not entirely sure that dog likes me,” Jon laughed.

“Lady leave Jon be,” Sansa scolded with a smile and the pup immediately began to wag her tail.

As Jon dressed, Sansa sat on the bed, resting her head on her knees, and watched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon POV continued


	43. Heirs and Heiresses (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is small, and in retrospect, I should have made this chapter part of the last one, but alas, it is what it is now haha. Anyway, thank you all for reading and for your encouraging comments!

“Vayon Poole died of the fever,” said Davos as they rode toward town together to meet with their shipping captain regarding the selling of the last shipment of wool.

“What?” Jon asked, startled. He had been too consumed with his own people and his quarrels with Sansa to take much notice of the world beyond Winterfell.

“The Poole farm is not entailed in the same way that Winterfell was, Poole was a business man who earned his wealth rather than inherited it,” Davos explained, “So Jeyne will inherit the farm when she comes of age… granted it’s less than a fourth the size of Winterfell, but whoever weds Jeyne will have some property and a little bit of wealth to their name.”

Jon cringed thinking of the fact that Ramsey Bolton and Jeyne Poole were still courting, and should they marry any property belonging to Jeyne would become Ramsey’s, it was the way of the world. Poole land bordered Winterfell on the east border. Jon had Frey’s to the south, and Poole’s to the east, and it seemed that Winterfell was slowly being enclosed by Bolton’s and their kin.

“I guess there is nothing to be done about it should she choose to marry Ramsey Bolton,” Jon sighed.

“No, it’s not like we can prevent her from marrying that snake,” Davos replied, “Our only hope, and hers for that matter, is that whoever the girl’s guardian is until she comes of age will have better sense than her father.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed. He had never been particularly fond of Jeyne Poole, but he did not wish the girl ill, and he would wish Ramsey Bolton on no one, “Have you heard who her guardian is?”

“I have not, but I assume, whoever it is, will come to either live here or collect her sometime soon, if they have not already made their way here,” Davos said.

Jon did not know much about the Poole’s, or who their relations were, he only hoped that whoever came to care for Jeyne taught the girl some sense beyond husband hunting and gossip.

“I think the Bolton’s intend to own half the county,” said Davos with a sigh, “What I can’t understand is why Bolton is after Jeyne when there are much more wealthy young women in the county, like Wylla Manderly for one.”

“Old Mr. Manderly would never let Wylla marry Ramsey,” Jon replied, “Sometimes it seems that Bolton’s plans are very pointed.”

“At you, you mean?”

Jon nodded. Perhaps it was his imagination, but sometimes he felt that the Bolton’s were distinctly after him, and if not him specifically, then certainly after Winterfell.

“Well, the Starks have always been powerful in this region, before the Rising in 1746, they were the most powerful clan in this region, and even afterward when the power of the clans was suppressed by the British, the Starks remained a pillar,” Davos explained.

“I’m not a Stark,” Jon said.

“Not exactly, but your wife is, and by inheriting their seat, Winterfell, you have essentially become the Stark in Winterfell, whether you want to admit to that responsibility or not,” Davos said, and Jon detected the hint of reproach in the old man’s tone. Davos wanted him to run for magistrate as well… Jon sighed. What was it that made his friends and his wife seem to think him so capable of leading and judging men?

* * *

When Jon returned home that evening, he found Sansa sitting in the rocking chair in the parlor, knitting, with her bare feet propped up on a stool in front of the hearth. Lady was curled in her lap and Ghost lay on the ground beside her. Smiling, Jon watched for a few moments as she hummed to herself and knitted and rocked. The scene was like something out of his most private dreams, and he could envision a few children playing in front of the hearth. He could almost imagine that they were simple shepherds without tenants, or business concerns, or harsh words between them. Though he imagined himself more suited for a simple life, Sansa was a lady and was growing to be the lady that everyone told him that her mother was. Everyone who knew Catelyn Stark said she was fierce, and proud, and clever, but she loved her people and her family. Family, duty, and honor were the resounding legacy Catelyn had left behind her, and Jon could see a similar strength in Sansa. Seeming to sense him watching, Sansa looked up and offered him a shy smile. While forgiveness had been given, and companionship returned, Jon knew they must rebuild what had been broken, and their quarrel had set back the progress they had made since they first wed. Guilt would eat away at him if he let himself dwell to long upon those thoughts.

Jon came up beside her and brushed a finger down her soft cheek, “You look weary,” he said, noting her glassy eyes and pale face. She looked up at him, as if she had never been touched so softly. He was happy that she did not flinch from his touch quite as often as she used too, but he knew there was healing still yet to be had in that regard. He hoped he would be part of that healing.

“Cook nearly ran me ragged,” Sansa chuckled, “We inventoried, and made lists, and budgeted for Winter, she says it’s never too early to prepare for Winter here.”

Jon smiled and knelt to pet Ghost as he listened.

“It’s all a bit overwhelming at times,” Sansa confessed, “I’ve never truly learned to manage a household properly.”

Jon smiled, “Well, you are doing an excellent job, I have no complaints,” He looked up at her to see her gnawing her lower lip, “But if you require help, you need only ask, I may not know much about household management, but by some miracle we weathered the last few Winters well enough.”

“I’m sure you were expertly trained,” Sansa said with an almost teasing grin.

“Actually, I was not really trained much at all,” Jon explained, lifting her feet from the stool, and sitting down on it before placing her feet in his lap. He did it without thinking, but she watched him, and he liked the way her eyes studied him as he took a chance and rubbed her bare ankle, as they continued to speak, “I had no inheritance until I was fourteen, when well…” of course she knew when, “Before then I was left to a rather mediocre education and to my own devices.”

“No one saw to your proper education?” Sansa asked, not protesting as he continued to caress her ankle.

“I was not taught to run an estate like Winterfell. Before I was set to inherit, I was expected to make my way in the world through the army, or the clergy, or the law,” Jon said.

Sansa looked at him, brow knit together, in… was that compassion or pity he saw in her eyes? “You learned to run Winterfell on your own?”

“Well, not entirely alone,” Jon evaded, “I had Davos and Marya, and then Sam and Gilly moved up here to be near me.”

Jon remembered those first hard and lonely days when he took over the full management of Winterfell. It was in those first days, when he first allowed himself to actually feel his loneliness and begun to long for a family of his own to fill the big castle with life and happiness again. He smiled at her, trying to keep their tone light, “And it’s not as if I was devoid of education, it’s just that the proper management of an estate was not a high priority for my Uncle when I had nothing to my name.”

“And was Aegon taught?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, as far as I am aware,” Jon said, “After our father died, Aegon and I were separated for most of the year. He went to live with his Cornish cousins, his mother’s relations, for most months out of the year. He often took his summers with us in Scotland and spent the rest of the year in Cornwall with the Martels.”

“Arianne?” Sansa asked, obviously having picked up on more than he thought while Aegon had been there with them.

“His cousin,” said Jon, “For all of Aegon’s schooling, I don’t know that it got him very far.”

“I don’t think Aegon truly wanted to learn,” said Sansa, wisely.

“No, perhaps not,” Jon nodded, “Aegon had, and still has, quite the penchant for squandering opportunities that others might die for.”

“Have you heard from him since we sent him off?” Sansa asked.

Jon shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa replied.

Jon looked up at her, “Whatever for?”

“No matter his flaws, he’s still your brother,” Sansa said.

Jon continued to rub little circles against her ankle, “Aye, he is,” He chuckled, “I cannot deny him, I suppose.”

“No, I suppose not,” Sansa, setting her knitting aside, reached down and touched his hand. Jon looked up at her, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. He liked holding her hand, “Families will always be complicated, I suppose.”

“Aye.”

“I’ve been thinking about my cousin Robyn, and how foolish my aunt was to leave Baelish as his guardian,” Sansa said, “Or really how foolish Lysa was to wed Baelish at all.”

Jon frowned, “If you wish, we can invite Robyn to stay with us for a time.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed in concern, “But if we invite Robyn, will we not be inviting Baelish back into our lives?”

“I suppose since Robyn is underage, we cannot escape Baelish,” Jon said, “But Robyn is your family, I will not deny him if you wish to bring him here.”

Sansa nodded, “I shall think on it… I have no desire to see Baelish…. I don’t want him here.”

Jon was glad. His forbearance with Baelish was limited, it had always been, since the very first time he had met Baelish. Recalling the day, Jon shuddered remembering the way Baelish had spoken of Sansa with both derision and lust… like she had been an object or a plaything. It had curdled Jon’s stomach. Jon did not want Baelish anywhere near his wife if he could help it.

* * *

After supper, Sansa and Jon ascended the stairs and he wondered if they might return to sharing a bed. Did she still want him in her bed? He had missed her on the nights they spent apart, he had grown accustom to her sleepy sighs and her warmth as she lay beside him. Before their marriage, he had never imagined himself to be someone who desired to share his bed and his room with someone. In childhood, he had lived such a solitary existence that he had thought his loneliness to be normal. Now he was realizing how broken his childhood truly had been. Hand in hand, they reached his bedroom door, and he opened it. Sansa was still grasping his hand. Jon looked back at her.

“Do you…” He started, not wanting to push, “Do you want to sleep with me? Just sleep…”

Sansa, gnawing on her lower lip, nodded. Perhaps they would heal each other? They walked into Jon’s room, and found it warm, a fire having already been made by their servants. Jon went and stoked the fire, both dogs at his heals, and Sansa began fidgeting with the back of her dress after she closed the door.

Jon stood and came to her, stilling her restless hands, “Let me.”

“I had forgotten this dress fastens in the back, and I’ve already sent my maid to bed,” Sansa chuckled, almost nervously, as she turned her back to him. Jon touched the buttons reverently, his fingers grazing her slender neck. As he worked down the buttons, Sansa began to unfasten her long beautiful hair. What was she doing to him? He bit back a groan as her fiery hair fell, and she pulled it over her shoulder. The air had grown so thick, he could hardly breathe. When the dress began to fall around her shoulders, she turned around and looked at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable. Her corset laced down the front… Jon took a breath. They looked at each other, the blue of her eyes seeming to ask him a thousand questions, while his heart asked but one. _Do you want me?_ He wanted to say it but could not seem to bring the simple words to his lips. Did she want him for him? Not for a babe, or because it was her duty, but did she want him for him? Did she want his heart? She took his hand and placed at the top of the laces of her corset. For a moment, he rested his hand there… he could feel her heart beating. A few silent moments ticked by as they looked into each other’s eyes. Slowly never taking his eyes from hers, Jon began to unlace her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Sansa shares a suspicion with Jon (Sansa POV). The next chapter will pick up immediately where this one left off, just from Sansa's POV


	44. Something Sweet (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene picks up immediately where the last chapter left off. Writing scenes like these always makes me super nervous! I hope it turned out alright, and that it is not disappointing. Their loving is still a little awkward, but I hope the little steps forward they make in this chapter are obvious. Thank you all so much for reading and for your encouraging comments!

Jon never took his eyes off hers as he began to unlace her. She did not stop him. She did not want to stop him, but there was a part of her that felt more nervous tonight than she did their first time. This was no mere duty, or an effort to make a babe, this was wanted and perhaps it was even part of reconciliation… another brick laid upon their foundation. She needed to tell him that she thought she was with child, and yet she could not seem to open her mouth as she looked into his stormy grey eyes, so intense and expressive. His hands continued down her laces. She swallowed hard, not knowing whether to stand and let him continue or to bolt to the bed and finish undressing beneath the blankets. Rooted to the spot, Sansa breathed. He had only seen her full body in glimpses, was she ready for him to see all of her in the room lit by lanterns and the hearth. Looking down at his hands slowly untying her laces, Sansa felt her stomach flutter. One of his fingers came beneath her chin to bring her eyes back to his. He slipped his other hand inside her corset, now hanging loosely from her shoulders, to rest upon her waist over her shift.

“We do not have to do anything you do not want, we can sleep,” Jon assured her in a quiet whisper, and she knew that. Jon would not take what she did not offer.

“I know,” Sansa swallowed and locked her eyes with his, “But you said we should begin again, to build something together…” She was not sure what she was trying to say, or what it meant exactly to build something together. She thought of the life her parents had and wondered if she and Jon might build something equally sweet together, if they had not ruined it by their actions over the last weeks.

Jon’s eyes turned grave, as his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush to him, he seemed to be having a struggle within himself, and then words fell from his mouth like a plea, “Do you want me?” The question was not coy. It was genuine.

Sansa studied his face, so open and vulnerable, as if he just laid his whole heart before her. Perhaps he had? Sansa shivered, and responded, “Do you want me?”

Had time stopped? Sansa thought as they stared.

Jon threaded his fingers into her hair and nuzzled his nose against hers, “Aye, I want you…”

Did he mean it? Sansa dug her fingers into the front of his shirt, and moaned when he pressed her harder against him and she could feel his physical desire for her, “I… I want you, Jon.” 

Taking a breath, Jon leaned his forehead against hers, “If we are to continue, I will not have you be my broodmare…” He stated firmly, and Sansa felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment, “Nor will I be your stud…”

If they were to continue, it would not be about making a child together, and she knew that even better than he did. She needed to gather her courage and tell him about the babe that may already be growing inside her. Her fists tightened in the front of his shirt.

“I want _you_ , Jon,” She repeated, and leaned her head against his chest, craving his tenderness. She had missed it. He kissed the top of her head, his hand coming to rest on the back of her neck.

They held onto each other for a few moments, until Jon drew her corset down, leaving her in nothing but her shift. Gnawing on her lower lip, Sansa looked up at him before her hands went to untie the laces of his breeches. Rarely had she been bold enough to do such a thing, but they were beginning again. _Don’t be afraid, Leannan,_ he had said their first time together as man and wife, and she was determined not to be. Sansa squealed in surprise when he suddenly swept her off her feet. She threw her arms around his neck, and he chuckled. Lady barked.

“Hush, you,” Jon said gruffly to the pup though he was smiling a breathtaking smile at Sansa as he carried her to the bed. Gently, he laid her down and began to draw up her shift. When she was bare, she resisted the urge to cover herself with the blankets. Her cheeks were hot as she averted her eyes. Jon stood and finished unlacing his breeches and removed his shirt. They were staring at each other the whole time. Sansa sat up, drawing her knees up to wrap her arms around them as she watched him undress. His breeches fell to the floor, and when he took a step toward her, he stumbled over them. They both giggled sheepishly, as Jon crawled onto the bed, his eyes turning absolutely feral, as Sansa backed up onto the bed and he stalked after her until she lay flat on her back and he hovered above her on all fours. She bit her lip and looked up at him, giving him a half smile. He beamed at her.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said in awe as if he had never seen a woman before.

She blushed and giggled, “Thank you.”

“May I look at all of you?” He asked.

“Yes,” Sansa nodded, and then he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. The tender dance of their lips was coaxing at first, asking… seeking. But when she opened her mouth, he groaned and one his hands tangled into her hair, setting her afire. Jon kissed her lips, her cheeks, down her neck, to her collarbone, and to the space between her breasts. Sansa stroked his beautiful curls as he lavished kisses on her, until he latched his mouth firmly on one of her tender nipples and she cried out.

His eyes snapped up to look at her, concern in his eyes.

She touched his cheek, stroking her thumb against his beard, and offered him a small smile, “Softly…”

“Aye, sorry,” he huffed with an apologetic grin, and Sansa’s eyes slid closed as he resumed his attentions to her chest, while one of his hands slipped between her legs to ready her.

“You’re not only beautiful,” Jon whispered, between kissing and sucking, “You’re smart and strong and brave…” He dropped a kiss right above her navel, “and every inch a lady… a woman…”

Sansa whimpered softly, feeling her belly quiver.

“I am happy you are my wife, Leannan,” Jon said and looked up at her, “You’ve made me happier than I’ve been in many, many years… maybe ever…”

Sansa felt unbidden tears spring to her eyes, but she tried to restrain them, she stroked his hair, “You’ve made me happy too…” She confessed like a prayer, because though she had been angry at him those weeks, it was true. She was happy and she was safe, and though they both were a little broken they could learn to trust again, and they could build something sweet together.

“Truly?” He asked, seriously.

“Yes,” she said and leaned up and gave him a tentative kiss. He smiled against her mouth as he kissed her back. Taking her cues from him, Sansa drew away from his mouth, and kissed his cheeks, and his forehead. He made no move to stop her, only stroked her hair. Pressing her lips to his temple, she heard him release a sigh of contentment. Emboldened by his sighs and trying not to let her shyness overcome her, Sansa pushed on his shoulder, urging him to lay down on his back. He obeyed, though he tugged her with him, until she was half atop him. Jon threaded his fingers through her hair again, as she resumed dropping kisses across his face, on each eye lid and back to his mouth. Wrapping her arm around his torso, Sansa felt him smile against her hair as she shyly began to kiss his neck. She looked up at him.

“Is this alright?” She asked, shyly.

Beaming, he rubbed her back, “Aye, Leannan, you’re perfect.”

She pressed another kiss to his neck, and then to the scar above his heart. He groaned, and she laid her head down on his chest.

“You’re a good man, Jon,” She said, “And I… I’m happy you’re my husband…” She kissed his chest once more, and for a moment they lay in silence.

The silence wore on until Jon’s strong hand drifted over her bottom, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I like your sturdy arse as well,” He said giving it an affectionate pat, and they both burst into laughter. Sansa felt her cheeks turn red, but she could not help but laugh with him.

“Is that so?” she asked, cheekily.

“Aye,” He said, and swiftly rolled her beneath him again, and laid atop her, pinning her to the bed. She touched his cheek, and he smiled fondly at her, before rubbing his nose against hers. They were both breathing rather heavily now. With a shy smile, Sansa opened her legs, and gasped softly as he nestled between them.

“You’re sure?” he asked, looking into her eyes, one arm winding around her shoulder to hold her close, the other stroking her hip.

“Yes, Jon,” Sansa assured him, and felt a deep well of affection bubble up within her, with how patient he always was with her. In one fluid motion, he thrust inside her and she cried out passionately, tugging softly on his hair. He began to move, slow at first, but then more urgently than he ever had in the past. Sansa could not contain the wanton whimpers that fell from her mouth, as she clung desperately to him. The full weight of his body pressed upon her, filling her with a sweet ache that seemed to consume her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he groaned. When she began to kiss and suck at his neck, he seemed to come undone all at once, as one of his hands went to the back of her knee pushing it further open. Panting, she dug her fingers into his strong shoulders to anchor herself. Sansa moaned and nipped at his lips. He was all around her and they were melting into each other. 

He grunted Gaelic words of passion against her neck, that she did not understand. Perhaps she would ask him what he said? But then he was kissing her, desperately claiming her, holding her... as if they were one... as if they were in love. Sansa shuddered and kissed him in return, surrendering to him and he to her in a way they never had before. 

Once their bodies were sated and sweaty, Jon collapsed atop her, pressing her into the bed and seemed in no hurry to move. He was trying to catch his breath and she was still shaking in the afterglow as she stroked his hair soothingly. She could still feel him inside her, though he was softening.

“I like it when you touch my hair like that,” Jon whispered breathily against her neck.

She smiled sadly, thinking how his life had been so lacking in affection. She at least had ten happy years with her mother and father and siblings, but did he have any kind memories?

“Your hair is soft,” She said trying to keep the moment soft and light, not wanting to ruin their peace by dredging up sour memories for him. They could talk about his childhood another night.

He chuckled, “So is yours,” He lifted his head just enough to look into her eyes, “Every part of you is soft.”

She smiled as he nuzzled his face back against her neck. Even as he lay atop her, his hand caressed her breast, and the sharp sensation when he gave it a squeeze, brought her thoughts back to reality and to the little sneaking suspicion she had tried to ignore. She was with child, a part of her knew it, though she had not fully admitted it to herself. She had to tell him. Continuing to stroke his hair, Sansa kissed the side of his face.

“Jon?”

“Yes?” He asked, his head popping up once more to look at her.

“I need to tell you something…”

“Alright?” His brow knit together in concern.

Sansa ran one finger down that worried wrinkle in the center of his forehead, “I… I…” she stammered, trying to choose her words. He wanted children; he had told her as much. He would be proud for her to bear him a child, he had told her that too, but she floundered with her words.

“Yes?” Jon urged.

“I think I may be with child,” She finally blurted out.

Jon looked at her for a couple of seconds as the words seemed to take a moment to sink in. He blinked. Then he pulled up and off of her so fast, she gasped, startled. He came to kneel between her still spread legs, and he raked a hand through his unruly curls. He looked terrified. Feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable, Sansa clapped her legs shut, and sat up, drawing her knees to her chest, and hugging them. She stared at him, and still he did not say anything. Emotions getting the better of her, Sansa felt tears start to stream down her cheeks.

“So, you’re not happy?” She asked, suddenly terrified herself.

He blinked again, and then seemed to shake himself from his stupor, “What? No, no Sansa,” He reached for her, but she remained defensively curled into herself.

“You don’t say anything?” she asked.

He raked his hand through his hair, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was on top of you, and I was rough, did I hurt you?” He rambled, drawing close and reaching for her again, “Did I hurt the babe?”

This time, she let him draw her into his arms and he hugged her. Sansa tears were falling freely now, “No, you did not hurt us.”

“I was crushing you,” Jon said nonsensically.

Sansa giggled through her tears, “No, we’re fine, Jon, you did not hurt us.”

Drawing apart for a moment, Jon looked into her eyes and wiped some tears from her cheeks, “You’re with child?” He asked in wide-eyed wonder.

Sansa sniffed back her tears, “I think so…”

“Have you seen Sam? Should I call for him?” Jon asked, looking like he was about to bolt from bed stark naked to summon him.

“No,” Sansa said.

Jon stared at her, before a huge, bright smile split across his face, “With child?”

“You’re happy?” She asked tentatively.

Gently, Jon kissed her, “Of course I’m happy!” He looked down, “Can I see?”

Sansa laughed at the absurdity of the question, he had seen her bare body all evening, there was nothing new to see, “There’s nothing to see yet, it’s too soon,” she said, but still she straightened her legs out in front of her and Jon looked down at her abdomen, his eyes so full of emotion, Sansa was not quite sure what to make of it. He pressed his hand to her belly, and Sansa covered his with her own. Jon looked into her eyes, and tucked some hair away from her face, still sweaty from their loving.

“Are you happy?” He asked, in a voice choked with emotion.

Sansa looked at him, and leaned her forehead against his, “I’m nervous,” She admitted, and his brow furrowed in concern, “But yes, I’m very happy.”

“How long have you known?” He asked his thumb making small circles right below her navel.

“I’m still not sure that I am, I just suspect but I thought you ought to know,” Sansa said, “But I don’t want us to get our hopes too high if I’m not,” She looked down at his hand, “It’s just that I have not had my monthly courses since we… um… since we…” She indicated themselves and he seemed to understand, “Marya said that is a sign, but I’ve skipped my monthly before…. but then with the sickness… I’ve grown more sure over the last few days, but I’m still not certain.”

Jon nodded and pressed another kiss to her lips. Sansa smiled softly and allowed him to hold her.

“Jon?” She said.

“Yes?”   
She took a shuddering breath and resolving to let him see her in every way, whispered, “I’m a little frightened,” She remembered watching Gilly give birth not so very long ago, and that coupled with her and Jon’s tentative reconciliation, she could not help but feel some fear.

Jon’s arms tightened around her, and he kissed the top of her head, “I’m here, Leannan.”

Sansa nodded, and sank back against him, allowing herself to be comforted.


	45. Untimely Confession (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I've been struggling with some serious writers block with this story this week. I know where I am going but my words don't seem to know how to get there. Since my chapters tend to be short, I try not to let too much time pass between posting but I was unsuccessful this week. I'm sorry for the delay, and I hope this chapter is not too disappointing. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments!

Sansa was still asleep in his bed, her lovely red hair spread out across the pillow, and her lashes brushing her soft cheeks. The quilt was pulled up over her bare breasts, but her shoulders were exposed. Beneath the blankets, Jon flattened his palm gently over her belly. Her skin was so soft. Jon knew little about bringing babies into the world, but he wondered when the babe would begin to show. Jon felt a certain amount of pride and terror at the thought of bringing a child into their life. He knew so little about being a real father and had had no examples to live by.

“I’ll not be like my father, I love you and you will always be wanted,” Jon whispered toward her stomach, wondering if babes could hear in the womb. Sansa started to stir. Quickly, before she could notice he was awake, he settled back and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, not wanting the morning to be over. He wanted to hold her for a little longer. Shifting in the bed, Jon felt her tentative movements, and then she pressed the sweetest of kisses against his neck. He wondered if she knew he was awake, but there was no sign that she did as she lay her head on his chest and went still once again. Taking a chance, he peeked and found her laying there, head pillowed on his chest, and her eyes open. He could not stop himself from stroking her hair and holding her a little tighter, and when he did, she tilted her head back to look at him. She gave him a shy smile, which he returned.

“I don’t want us to sleep apart,” Jon blurted out without thinking, feeling like he had just lay his heart before her. Not long had passed since their tentative reconciliation, and Jon wanted that reconciliation to last.

Sansa, drawing nearer, looked up at him.

“Even when we are angry,” Jon said somewhat more hesitantly.

“Alright,” Sansa said softly.

“I want my bed to be your bed,” Jon reiterated.

She smiled, “Alright.”

Jon chuckled and kissed the top of her head, “And since you are being so compliant, I want you to see Sam today.”

She nodded and gnawed on her lower lip, looking away from him. Ever since she had told him her suspicions about the babe, she had been reluctant to see Sam or even Marya, to see if they might be able to confirm that she was with child. Jon caught her chin gently and drew her gaze back to his.

“What is it?” Jon asked, brow furrowing.

“Nothing, I’m just nervous is all,” She confessed. Jon had never witnessed a human birth himself but having stood downstairs for the birth of both of Sam and Gilly’s children listening, Jon could imagine her fear. He feared for her, it was not uncommon for women to die in childbirth and he did not think he could bare losing her. In the short time they had been together, she had become very precious to him. There was more than simple companionship between them, even if both struggled to admit it.

“So am I,” he said and kissed the top of her head. Jon knew some in these parts would say, that it was natural and expected of a woman to bear and birth children for her husband, that it was her role as his wife. Jon, however, did not hold with that line of thinking. Jon cringed thinking of Mr. Glover who had gotten his wife with child when her age made it no longer safe to bare children and she died giving birth, or the Frey’s who had more children than they could properly feed. He knew little about being a husband himself, but he knew that a wife was much more than a vessel to carry his children. Sansa was smart and strong, and while he knew she would be a wonderful mother, he further knew that she had more to offer the world than her womb. He hoped she knew that, and if she did not, he hoped he could show her that he valued her heart and mind, as much as her body… to show her that he cared for her, that he…

“I love you,” the words tumbled out of Jon’s mouth before he could stop them, and then time stood still. They both seemed to stop breathing. Sansa did not move for a very long while. Jon thought his heart might stop. Finally, she sat up, drawing the blankets up with her to keep her breasts covered, and sighed deeply. She was not looking at him. Jon watched as she tucked some hair behind her ear and pulled the blankets tighter around her. Jon put a hand on her bare back and sat up as well, “Sansa?” He asked, hesitantly.

She nodded, her fingers beginning to fidget with the blanket. Stroking his hand up and down her spine, he waited. Did she not want to hear those words? Was she not ready for them? He knew that she did not love him, that she could not say the words back, so perhaps it was unfair of him to force his feelings on her in such an untoward fashion. He meant the words truly, but he had not meant to spring them on her so suddenly.

“We’re going to be late for breakfast,” She whispered, still not looking at him.

“There’s no one here but us,” Jon countered, a part of him aching to hear her say that she loved him too, though he knew she would not. Sansa would not tell him such a thing if she did not mean it. The thought was both comforting and painful.

“Still, we should not delay Cook,” Sansa started to rise from the bed, and all at once seemed to remember that she was quite naked. A flush of red went from her cheeks all the way down to her chest. “Will you pass me my robe?”

Jon reached over the side of the bed to the pile of clothes on the floor, but did not see her robe there, “Where did you take it off?”

“It’s not there?” She asked looking anxious, though she had been naked with him all night without a second thought.

“No,” Jon said.

Her eyes darted about the room, and then both their eyes lighted on her robe and gown, flung indelicately across a chair. She looked pained that they were so far away. Standing, Jon quickly pulled up his breeches to hang about his hips.

“I’ll get them,” he offered with a half-smile.

“Thank you,” She said softly.

Retrieving her gown and robe and handing them to her, Jon turned his back, and bent in front of the hearth to stoke the fire, giving her some semblance of privacy so that she could pull the garments on. He stayed there until he felt her hand sink into his hair. He glanced up at her, and she leaned down and kissed the top of his head before retreating through the study door, with Lady at her heels. Jon did not know if that was a kiss of affection or pity. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

* * *

When they came down for breakfast, Sansa acted as if nothing was amiss. Jon was baffled, he had expected some sort of acknowledgement, whether that be anger, confusion, reciprocation, or even pity. He had not expected her to be smiling and acting as if he had not laid his whole heart bare before her that morning. The refusal to acknowledge his words, nettled him even more than her inability to return his sentiments.

“Come harvest time this autumn, I think I should like us to host a harvest festival for our tenants,” Sansa said casually.

Jon grunted his acknowledgement over the top of his newspaper, feeling like he could not meet her eyes.

“My parents used to host harvest festivals, it always put people in good spirits before winter set in,” Sansa said and paused, “Are you listening, Jon?”

Jon looked up from the newspaper briefly, “Aye.”

Cook snorted at him, having overheard the exchange as she brought extra scones to the table. Jon scowled at Cook, who shook her head at him.

Sansa’s brow furrowed and she looked at him, like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Well, we don’t have to have a festival if you don’t want one,” Sansa huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “I know you don’t like parties. I just thought it would be nice to host our tenants.”

“I don’t mind having a festival,” Jon said.

“It won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sansa growled.

“It’s a good idea,” Jon said simply, finally looking at her, trying to beg her with his eyes to acknowledge that something had shifted between them this morning. She seemed oblivious, or at least determined to remain oblivious.

Her eyes narrowed and Jon looked back down at his paper, ignoring her scrutiny.

“Dr. Tarly is here to see you, sir,” announced a maid upon her entrance into the dining room.

Sansa shot him a scathing look.

“I did not call him for you,” Jon said indignantly.

“I should talk to him, though,” She shifted in her chair, “Shouldn’t I?”

Jon smiled softly, setting aside his irritation for a moment, the vulnerability in her eyes softening him, “It’s up to you, leannan, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but I think it would be wise.”

“He has business with you, I would not want to bother him,” Sansa said.

“You can always ask him to come back when he is available,” Jon recommended.

She smiled tersely and nodded.

* * *

Sansa disappeared after a congenial chat about the weather with Sam and left them to their business without once mentioning that she needed to speak to Sam as a doctor. Jon could only sigh and shake his head, he did not know why having the child confirmed was making her so skittish when he felt that he would have more peace once they knew for sure. Sansa had told him last night that she had quite a lot of housekeeping business to manage today, and so he figured she had disappeared to do it, pretending for another day that all was the same.

“How are the two of you doing?” Sam asked.

“We fine,” Jon said simply, “We’re mending.”

Sam chuckled, “Were you broken?”

“In a way,” Jon admitted, as an idea occurred to him, “Do you think Gilly might be able to come by tomorrow and see Sansa?”

“I can’t imagine why not,” Sam said, “Any particular reason, or just up for a visit.”

Jon did not think he could tell Sam the true reason without breaking Sansa’s trust, so he did not, “Just to visit.”

“I’ll ask her when I return home,” Sam said without prying.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“I was up visiting the village yesterday,” Sam changed the subject, “Tis strange not seeing Nan and Lyanna about

“Aye, I stopped by to check on Alysanne and Dacey yesterday as well, and I don’t think they are coping well,” Jon replied.

“Seems a different world in which we must all learn to live,” Sam replied.

Jon nodded.

“Nothing is ever the same after such loss.”

Jon nodded again.

“A family who lost a baby to the fever and who used to rent from the Bolton’s is staying with family in the village,” Sam began, “They are going to be traveling to Aberdeen for work soon, and not like to ever return here.”

Jon shook his head sadly, “Yes, I had heard. We’re losing a lot of good families since the Bolton’s enclosed their land. I wish I had work and houses for them all, but I don’t.”

“No luck in starting up a wool mill then?” Sam asked.

Jon sighed, “Varys does not think me capable of starting the venture on my own, don’t have quite enough capital. He says I need investors.”

“And investors these days are hard to come by,” Sam supplied.

“Indeed, and not many of these old families here are willing to risk much on me, most of them see no reason to change the way things have always been done,” Jon explained.

“It seems it would be in their interest since so many raise sheep,” Sam said.

“Yes, but it is also risky, and so few are willing to risk, and even fewer are willing to risk on account of creating jobs for tenants farmers who are being pushed off land by the Bolton’s,” Jon sighed.

“I suppose you cannot save the world,” Sam chuckled, but his eyes were sad.

“No, I suppose not,” Jon said, “I just wish there was something I could do for the poor souls of this county who have no where to go and no means to make an honest living any longer.”

“I imagine you’ll think of something,” said Sam with an almost devious smile.

“I appreciate your vote of confidence,” Jon replied.

Sam patted Jon’s arms, “You’ll always have my vote Jon.”

Jon sighed.

* * *

That night, Jon half expected Sansa to have retreated to her chambers, but when he opened the door to his room, she was in her nightgown, sitting cross-legged on the bed, with Lady in her lap. She looked up upon his entrance and gave him a small smile.

“Good day?” He asked as he sat in his chair to take off his boots, Ghost came to his side and head butted him for attention. Jon chucked and scratched the dog behind the ears before returning his attention to his boots.

“Yes, a productive day,” said Sansa softly as she put Lady on the floor, and the pup frolicked over to Ghost, running into the older dog’s legs and taking a tumble. Sansa giggled, and Jon could not help but smile, “But I’m quite tired.”

Jon nodded and stripped off his shirt and changed into the soft breeches he slept in, “I’ve heard women with child tend to be more tired in the day.”

Sansa frowned, “Yes.”

“You did not ask Sam.”

“No,” She said simply.

“I asked him to send Gilly up to visit with you tomorrow,” Jon confessed, and she narrowed her eyes at him, “I did not tell him why… I just thought maybe you might want to speak to someone who is a mother,” though he supposed she could have spoken to Marya and had yet too do so.

“I’ll be happy to see Gilly, though she already thinks I am with child,” Sansa said. Jon nodded, of course Gilly would have guessed. Jon came over to the bed and she laid down and looked up at him, her big blue eyes studying him.

“Jon…”

“Yes?” He prompted. He wanted to wrap himself around her, and hold her, and whisper to her that he loved her, and pray that one day she might say it back.

Instead, he sat down beside her and she stared at him for some time before she opened her mouth, “Did you say it because of the babe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon and Sansa's conversation continued (Undecided POV)


	46. With Child (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I proofread this when I was half asleep, I hope it turned out alright. I could find no reliable information on how doctors confirmed pregnancy in the early-mid 1800s so I kind of brushed over that section, but it can be assumed that Sam did a whatever test that they did then. This chapter I think is mostly fluff, but I hope everyone enjoys. the chapter picks up exactly where the last one left off.

“Did you say it because of the babe?” Sansa let the words fall from her mouth and then held her breath. She looked at him, feeling like her heart was hanging on the next words out of his mouth. She pulled the blanket around her, and they stared at each other. Giving her a tender smile, Jon touched her cheek and stroked his thumb along her cheek bone. Laying down beside her, he continued to stroke her cheek.

“You don’t say anything?” She asked again, her voice more tremulous than she would like.

Jon grinned and drew closer, both laying on their sides, facing each other, “You’ve been rather quiet all day.”

Sansa felt her cheeks burn. His words this morning in bed had caught her off guard, and then fear had gotten the better of her and she fled. She averted her eyes, “I suppose that’s fair.”

Jon chuckled, and she buried her face against his neck in embarrassment. Jon stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, moving one hand to her belly.

“I love you,” Jon said and rubbed his bearded cheek against her cheek, making her giggle where she was still hidden against his neck, but then he grew serious, “And it’s alright if you can’t say so to me yet,” he said, though his voice was sad which made her heart hurt in curious ways.

Sansa nodded and put her hand over his heart, “And the baby?” Sansa pressed. Jon wrapped his arms around her, and Sansa let him hold her, her starving heart devouring his affection.

“I told you once that I’d be proud if you gave us a babe, and I am,” Jon whispered against her hair, “But that is not why I love you.”

Sansa was not sure what to make of that, no one had ever cared about her except for what she could give. Harold Harding had drained whatever softness and affection she had remaining inside her until she felt that her heart was shriveled and small.

“I did not mean to tell you so suddenly,” Jon admitted, “But I do love you, and it’s not only because of the babe. I think I loved you long before, though I may not have recognized it in myself.”

Sansa looked at him.

“When I was young, I knew I was an inconvenience to my family, a problem that they all felt needed to be solved,” Jon sighed and Sansa felt pain in her own heart at his words, “I thought the only love there was, was the fevered and boyish love I had found with Ygritte, because she saw me as a human being, and not a problem. In truth I was lonely.”

“And what you feel for me is different?” Sansa asked, curiously, keeping her eyes averted to not have to face the intensity of the emotions she could see in his eyes.

Jon kissed the top of her head, “Aye, it is.”

Sansa nodded.

“You light my blood on fire,” Jon chuckled making Sansa blush, “But as much as I desire you, I could hold you like this forever and be happy. You make me feel like I have come home, and your kindness and strength touch my heart in a way that no one else has. You make me want to be a better man for you and for Winterfell, a braver man.”

Sansa smiled softly and kissed his neck.

“When I was young, I believed love could only be found once, but as I have grown, I realize the stronger love, the better love, is the one that is built, the one that is chosen,” Jon said placing gentle kisses over her eyelids and across her cheeks, “And I choose you, Sansa, and I will choose you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Jon, I…” Sansa stuttered, and he placed a kiss on her mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jon said softly, “It was not my intention to pressure you to say anything you are not prepared to say… I can wait for you.”

Sansa smiled sadly and nodded, clinging to him. Could she love him? Was love a true thing? She felt it from him when she was with him, his tenderness and patience. Sansa could almost hear her mother’s voice reading to her at night… _Love is patient, Love is kind_ … She thought perhaps he could make her believe again.

“Leannan…” Jon started hesitantly, “Are you… are you happy about the babe?”

Sansa lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes looked genuinely sad. She touched his cheek, “Of course, I’m happy.”

He looked away for a moment, “Then why… why do you not wish to know for sure?” He flattened his palm against her belly.

Sansa felt her heart drop, as she remembered Nan’s murmured words about dead redhaired babes. Feeling emotions threatening her, Sansa’s lower lip quivered. He touched her lip with his thumb.

“What is it, Leannan? Please…?” Jon begged.

She covered the hand he still had on her belly with her own, “What if…. What if….” Her voice was shaking, and she could not seem to bring herself to speak the words.

“Sansa, sweetheart?” Jon urged as tears filled her eyes.

“What if the babe…” Sansa felt a few tears slip down her cheeks, “What if I lose the babe…?”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked.

Sansa sat up and hugged her knees, wiping at her eyes. Jon sat up beside her and stroked her back, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“Marya lost children. And I have vague recollections of my mother losing two…” Sansa whimpered and looked at him, “And… Nan… Nan lost her redhaired babe….”

“Sansa,” Jon said, his voice heartbroken, “How long have you been fretting over this?” He rubbed his hand up and down her back.

Sansa sniffed back a few more tears, “Since… since I first suspected…”

“Oh, Sansa, Sansa,” Jon drew her into his arms, “Leannan, you’ve borne these fears alone all this time?”

Tears falling freely down her cheeks, she nodded and cried against his chest, “I could not bare it, Jon, I could not….”

“Sansa,” He did not seem able to form words, and he held her close.

“There has been too much death….” Sansa said, feeling like she was making little sense, “I could not bare it, Jon…”

Slowly, Jon guided her to lay down and he curled up behind her and held her close, and for a few moments they were silent until Sansa’s tears began to subside. Jon brushed back some of her hair from her neck, “I cannot promise you that terrible things will never happen again, Leannan, but what I can promise…” He lay his cheek against hers, “I can promise that whatever does come, we will face it together.”

Sansa nodded and he held her until she fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

“The first months are the most delicate,” said Sam. Sam and Gilly had examined her and listened to her symptoms, and Sam ran some test that she did not understand which he said had further confirmed that she was certainly with child. Sansa straightened her dress and took a fortifying breath.

“And then the babe will be safe?” Sansa asked, fearfully. Gilly squeezed her hand.

“There will always be risk,” Sam replied, “But after the first few months, the risk to the child decreases.”

Sansa nodded.

“You are still in those early months, Sansa,” Sam warned gravely, “You do not need to be engaging in activities too strenuous.”

“But you are also not a delicate flower,” Gilly chuckled, “Light exertion is good for you.”

“In moderation,” Sam contradicted. Sam and Gilly exchanged surly smiles that made Sansa chuckle in spite of her fear, “I suppose what we are both trying to say, is that you need not confine yourself to bed, just be mindful that your condition is a delicate one.”

Taking another breath and glancing across the room, Sansa could see Jon’s feet hovering in the crack under the study door.

“Sam, might you let him in before he wears a hole in the floor from his pacing?” Sansa asked, waving her hand toward the door.

Gilly laughed.

Sam opened the study door and the two dogs bolted inside Sansa’s room. Jon looked up at Sansa, his dark curls sticking up in every direction as if he had repeatedly run his hand through it. She smiled at him, and his face split into a beautiful beaming grin. He loved her. Sansa still was not sure what to make of that, but in her heart, she wanted to believe it… wanted to believe him. Perhaps she did? She smiled, placing her hand over her womb as she held his gaze. He ran a hand down his beard, his eyes sparkling with delight, and possibly with tears. He came over to them.

“You both will stay to lunch, of course?” asked Sansa, eyeing Jon, but directing her question to Sam and Gilly.

“If you wish,” chuckled Gilly.

“Are you…?” Jon reached out for Sansa but withdrew his hands.

Sam grinned.

“Yes, Jon,” Sansa said softly, and without care for Gilly and Sam watching, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her. Sansa stroked his cheek, her heart racing with a strange mixture of anxiety and her own delight. She was with child. She was going to have a child. She was going to give Jon a child.

Sam and Gilly laughed, and took each other’s hands and led the way out of Sansa’s room and into the hall. Sansa and Jon exchanged secret smiles, and glances as they descended the stairs. Lady nipped at Jon’s pant leg making Sansa laugh.

By the time they reached the dining room and sat down to lunch Jon and Sam were laughing about something, and Sansa and Gilly sat down beside each other.

“Sam saw Jeyne Poole yesterday,” Gilly said, “She’s been despondent since the passing of her father.”

Sansa felt for Jeyne, though she did not consider the woman a friend, she did not wish her ill, “Will she stay at home?”

“Her guardian is on the way, and it is my understanding that they will stay in the county for some time to put Jeyne’s affairs in order and then they will go to London, where she will stay until she comes of age.”

“Her guardians’ will take her that far south? Away from Scotland?” Sansa asked, feeling curiously sad at the thought. Jon looked at her, overhearing her comment.

“That is what Jeyne says,” said Sam, “She was quite distraught about it.”

“Did she say who her guardian would be?” Jon asked.

“Someone by the name of Tarth…” Sam replied, “Selwyn Tarth, I believe?”

“Relative?”

“A family friend. The Poole’s have no living relations.”

Sansa took a sip of her tea, thinking of her own circumstances before she wed Jon. She had had so little freedom, and had been so mistreated by her father’s friends, and her last living relations, she could not help but fear for Jeyne. The girl only had two years before she came of age, but still… two years could do plenty of damage.

“I feel for her being taken from her home, but in light of her attachment to Ramsey Bolton, I do believe that it will be in her best interest to leave,” said Jon.

“Is someone with her now, until her guardian comes to fetch her?” Sansa asked, feeling a great deal of empathy for Jeyne in spite of her lack of affections for the girl.

“Yes, Mrs. Manderly is with her, and Wylla,” Sam said, “They will watch over her.”

“Perhaps I should stop in and see her?” said Sansa. Jon gave her a grave look but did not protest. “I can take Randa with me.”

“That would be kind of you,” said Sam, “Just remember not to overexert yourself.”

Sansa sighed, “Don’t worry Sam.”

“It’s my job to worry over you,” Sam protested with a pleasant smile. Sansa saw Jon grin as he took a sip of his own tea. Though she had no wish to be fussed over, a certain warmth of belonging filled her heart and she could not help but smile.

* * *

After Sam and Gilly had left, and Jon went up to the study to work on some shipping contracts, Sansa took the dogs out into the courtyard for a stroll. Lady needed exercise if she were to spend her puppy energy before bed. Sansa needed air herself, the air in the house had begun to feel stifling. The day was warm, and Sansa was aching for autumn. She had some vague memories of autumn here and wanted to remember what it was like. Someone called to her in Gaelic, making her head snap up. She fixed her gaze across the courtyard to the barn to see Podrick, still gaunt and somewhat pale, coming out of the barn leading a sheep. Sansa smiled.

“Podrick!” Sansa called out, as she went over to him.

He was smiling broadly.

“I’m so pleased to see you well,” Sansa said, “Are you sure you are able to be about your chores so soon?”

Podrick chuckled, “Aye, ma’am, if I lay in my bed for one more day, I shall waste away from malaise rather than fever.”

Sansa smiled.

“I have not yet had the chance to thank you for all you and Lord Jon did for me while I was ill.” Podrick said.

“We did very little,” Sansa said.

“You do not give yourself enough credit,” Podrick said, “Not many would risk their lives in such a way.”

“The lambs need you,” Sansa teased making him laugh, “Have you spoken to Mya?”

Podrick blushed brightly.

Sansa smiled, “She barely left your bedside while you were ill.”

“Aye, we spoke this morning,” said Pod.

“I know its none of my business,” Sansa said still grinning, “But she cares more for you than she has admitted.”

Podrick’s cheeks grew redder, “She’s dear to me,” he said cryptically.

“And you’re dear to her,” Sansa said.

“I hope so, my lady.”

Sansa chuckled, and caught Lady up in her arms before she had a chance to charge the sheep that Podrick was tethered too.

“Jon and I are glad you are back, Pod,” Sansa said, whistling for Ghost so that they could finish their walk.

“Thank you, my lady.”


	47. Walking Together (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated! I had some family stuff come up that prevented me from writing. This chapter is mostly fluff, but I hope everyone enjoys it anyway! The next chapter will hopefully move the plot along a little further. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for sticking with me and for all of your encouraging comments!

Jon paced in front of the study window, down below he could see Sansa and Podrick speaking together in front of the barn. Wrestling with the desire to go down there and interrupt them and his desire to give Sansa freedom, Jon kept pacing. He trusted Sansa and did not want her to think otherwise, but his heart felt a keen ache whenever he witnessed how naturally Podrick and Sansa interacted, and how easily he brought smiles to her face. When Jon and Sansa were alone together, Jon was still not entirely convinced that Sansa was not frightened of him. She was always affectionate and sweet when she gave herself to him, but he wondered sometimes if she only came to him because she felt like she had too. He looked back out the window and saw that whatever conversation Sansa and Podrick were having was now over, and Sansa was playing with the dogs in the courtyard, and Podrick was nowhere in sight. Jon loved to watch her laugh and smile when she was uninhibited by the constraints of society or by other’s observations of her. She was so lovely, but he could also see that she was lonely, and accustom to being so… just like he was. He hoped that being here… with him… had alleviated some of that loneliness.

Tired of numbers and figures, Jon strode out of their study and to the courtyard, catching Sansa as she was walking up the steps to the house.

“I thought you were hard at work,” She said with a smile when she saw him.

“I was but I saw you out here… and…” Jon raked a hand through his hair, “And you seemed to be enjoying yourself with the dogs and so I thought I would join you. Are you coming in?”

“I was…” She started, gnawing on her lip, “But…”

She paused, her eyes darting around looking for a place to land.

“But?” Jon urged.

“Perhaps we could take a turn in the garden… together,” Sansa said, and she held out her hand to him.

Smiling, Jon took her hand.

For awhile they walked in silence, into the garden and through the last vestiges of their summer plants. Harvest would soon be upon them and Winter was coming. Jon glanced over at his wife… she would be birthing their child in the throes of Winter.

“Mr. and Mrs. Baratheon never walked together,” said Sansa suddenly. Jon wondered what had her thinking of her former guardians, “I reckon that was one of the reasons they were so miserable together.”

“Did your mother and father walk together?” Jon asked, stroking his thumb along her knuckles as they walked.

“Yes, often,” Sansa said softly, “They enjoyed each other’s companionship, at least from what I can remember.”

“We’ll walk together then,” Jon said.

She looked at him and gave him a small smile, “Aye, we shall.”

“Why did your father leave you with the Baratheons?” Jon asked, and hoped that it was not too painful of a question.

Sansa sighed, “Mr. Baratheon and my father were friends once, like brothers,” she said, “But my father had not seen him in years, since he and Mrs. Baratheon wed.”

Jon nodded.

“Father said he used to come and visit Winterfell, but since he married, he had not managed to come North,” said Sansa, “Mrs. Baratheon was English, you see…”

Jon snorted.

“She did not like Scotland, nor Scots,” Sansa explained, “But of course father did not know that, and I think with Mr. Baratheon, he chose to see the man that he once was, instead of the man that he had become.”

“But to just leave you there… with strangers?”

Sansa smiled sadly, “I loved my father dearly and I know he loved me, but much like you and I… my father was not perfect nor was he all knowing… and there was no one else except for my Aunt Lysa…”

“I wish I could determine which of the scoundrels stole your inheritance,” Jon grumbled.

She looked at him, “The money does not matter so much, I’m only glad to know now that father set out to provide for me… for years I thought he had not cared… or at least had been rather careless…”

“Still, its yours…”

Sansa squeezed his hand, “You’ve given me back everything that I wanted.”

The words were said so softly that Jon almost did not hear them… but he did hear them.

“You’ve made me safe, given me back my home,” Sansa said, and put a hand over her womb, “And a family.”

Jon felt tears sting his eyes at her words… had she not done the same for him? “You’ve given me a home and a family,” Jon said, “This place was a cold, empty castle before you came.”

Sansa smiled at him and they continued onward, lapsing into silence once more until they reached the far end of the garden.

“I think having a harvest gathering is a good idea,” Jon said.

She looked at him, “Truly? You are not just saying that to spare my feelings?”

Jon chuckled, “No, I think it’s brilliant. I think it would be a way to bring the community together before winter sets in, winter can be so hard here.”

“Father used to say that when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives,” Sansa smiled fondly at the recollection, “We can let our people know that they are not alone.”

Jon pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

“I think tomorrow I will go and see Jeyne, to see how she is faring at the prospect of being taking south.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“I know what it is like to be taken away from everything you know and forced to live with strangers,” Sansa said, “Even if it is for her good, it will not be easy.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jon said.

“You don’t have too, Jon, I don’t want to interrupt your day.”

“It’s no interruption, I’m happy to spend time with you,” Jon smiled, and she wrapped a tentative arm around his waist and snuggled closer, as they watched the dogs chase each other.

* * *

“You want to do what?” Sansa screeched as she pulled the blanket tighter around her bare breasts, her foot nearly collided with Jon’s face as she pushed him away from where he had been laying between her legs, his face even with her belly.

“I just want to kiss you here,” Jon said sheepishly, as he touched her mound over the sheet. Sansa’s face was almost as red as her hair.

“People do not do such things!” Sansa snapped.

“How do you know?” Jon retorted playfully, though in truth he was not entirely sure people did such things himself. But what harm would it do to lavish his affections on his wife in such a way? And if it was not a done thing, who was to know but the two of them?

“I don’t know, I just know!” Sansa recoiled, snapping her thighs shut and curling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. She was watching him warily, looking so alarmed Jon had mercy on her. He crawled up the bed and kissed her forehead and then her nose, as he crowded her against the headboard.

“We do not have to do anything you don’t want,” Jon said softly, brushing a few more featherlight kisses over her eyelids and cheeks, “I just want to please you.”

She offered him a wary smile before averting her eyes again, and whispered, almost inaudibly, “You please me.”

Jon had to chuckle at that, “I did not hear you, love.”

She glared at him, “You know very well what I said, sir.”

Jon brushed his nose against hers, and stroked her hair, “Tell me…”

“You…” She looked at him and gnawed on her lip before getting a very mischievous look in her eye, “You need to get out of bed and attend to business.”

Jon grinned, not ready to release her just yet. He brushed his lips against her neck and heard her breathing hitch. He felt like a wolf on the prowl, as he swept kisses across her face, stroked her soft skin, and nuzzled his nose into her hair, until she was sinking back down onto the bed. As he hovered over her, she smiled shyly up at him. He gave her a fond smile in return but kept her caged in beneath him. Leaning down, he latched his mouth onto her neck.

“What were you saying?”

Sansa giggled softly, “You have business to attend.”

Jon sucked a little harder and she gasped, “Before that?” He asked.

“Do you delight in teasing me?” She asked, pulling his head from her neck by his hair. He winced but chuckled.

Looking into her eyes, Jon brushed some hair out of her face and stroked his thumb across her cheek. As she looked up at him, Jon realized there was trust in her eyes and he treasured it, even if she was not fully aware of it herself. If his heart softened any more for her, it would certainly melt.

“Do I please you, love?” He asked tenderly.

Reaching up, she touched his cheek, “You please me, Jon.”

He kissed her then, full on the mouth, but slowly, savoring every nip and caress and breathless sound that dropped from her sweet mouth. He sank closer to her.

“Jon…” She whimpered, suddenly pushing on his shoulder.

“Yes?” Jon asked still showering kisses on her until she nearly shoved him off and scrambled to the other side of the bed, “I’m sor…” Just as he was about to apologize for pushing her too far, Sansa leaned over the side of the bed and retched into their chamber pot. Jon grimaced and scooted closer to offer her comfort.

“Don’t look at me,” She moaned, just before retching again. Jon stroked her back, unsure what to do. When the episode was finally over, Sansa kept her head hanging off the side of the bed and turned away from Jon.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, and Jon could hear tears in her voice.

“You have nothing to apologize for, leannan,” Jon continued to stroke up and down her spine.

“I want to be well,” Sansa buried her face in the blanket, “I don’t want to be sick anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, wishing there were more he could do for her. He would bare the sickness for her if he could.

“Why are you sorry?” Sansa asked her face still turned away from him.

Jon felt his cheeks flush, “Well, I do feel at least partially responsible for putting you in this condition.”

“You should,” She retorted, but he could hear the distinct sound of a smile in her voice, verging on a giggle. Chuckling, Jon continued to stroke her back, until she was ready to turn over and face him again. Rolling over onto her back, she gave him a weepy smile and he reached over and brushed some stray tears from her cheeks.

“I… I wanted you,” Sansa confessed, he thought perhaps for the first time.

God, her sweetness would end him, “I wanted you too, love, but we will have some time when you are well.”

“Now I feel I need to bathe,” Sansa scowled as she glanced down at the malodorous chamber pot.

Getting up, Jon fetched her nightgown from where he had flung it the night before and brought it to her. He laid it beside her on the bed. Bending over, he brushed some sweaty hair away and kissed her forehead.

“I’ll send your maid up to help with the bath.”

Sansa gave his hand a squeeze, “Thank you.”

* * *

Jon thought she needed to lie down and rest, but Sansa would have none of that when she appeared fresh and unperturbed at the bottom of the stairs later that day. She was determined to see Jeyne Poole and would not be told no.

“It’s the neighborly thing to do, Jon, we were so busy with our people that we did not even attend Mr. Poole’s funeral,” Sansa said as she tied a bonnet around her head.

“But you’re ill,” Jon protested as he followed her out to the carriage, just barely remembering to grab his hat.

“I’m not ill, I’m with child,” Sansa said firmly and glared at him. For all her sweetness, she could certainly be stubborn when she wanted to be. Jon got into the carriage to the sound of Tormund’s bellow laugh.

“It would not be impolite to tell them you were indisposed,” Jon said.

“I think I should have taken Randa,” said Sansa with a teasing smirk, “She’s not half so troublesome.”

Jon grumbled under his breath, which made Sansa laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Jon and Sansa visit Jeyne Poole and meet Brienne Tarth; Some conversations about Podrick will also be had (undecided POV)


	48. Carriage Rides (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like its been a million years, between this chapter being incredibly difficult to write and just having so many life stuffs happening at once. I actually shed a tear writing this chapter, so I hope it truly does evoke the emotional response I'm looking for, or maybe I'm just emotional haha! Any way, I hope everyone enjoys, and as always thank you so much for reading and for your encouraging comments, they keep me motivated to keep on!

Tormund tried to help Sansa down from the carriage, and the scathing look from Jon drew a bellowing laugh from the large man, and a giggle from Sansa. Shaking his head and with amusement in his eyes, Jon lifted her from their carriage as they arrived at the Poole’s estate. The house was about a quarter of the size of Winterfell and not half so ancient, but it was elegant and well kept. Sansa remembered seeing many houses like it in the countryside around London when she had lived with the Baratheons. Jon caught her by the arms as she stumbled a bit, and his hand came to rest on her belly once she was steady on her feet. His eyes searching hers in concern. Sansa placed her own hand over his.

“We’re fine, Jon,” She whispered to her over worried husband.

“Are you sure?” He asked, “You were so ill this morning.”

Sansa smiled and patted his hand, “We’re fine.”

His face was tense, but he nodded and offered her his arm. Together they strode to the door and were admitted by the housekeeper. The house was lovely, and quiet until Sansa heard a wrenching sob from somewhere upstairs and a slamming door. Down the staircase plodded an extraordinarily tall blonde woman with a square jaw, solemn eyes, and mouth set in a grim line. She looked at them and sighed, as if company was the last thing she wanted to deal with in that moment.

“Brienne Tarth,” She said tersely, and did not seem to know whether to curtsy, shake hands, or nod.

Jon smiled reassuringly at Lady Brienne, and a hint of a smile peeked at the corners of her serious mouth, “Lord and Lady of Winterfell, Jon and Sansa Snow, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Ah, neighbors,” Brienne clarified.

“Yes,” Sansa said, “We came to pay our respects to Miss Poole and to meet her guardian, is Mr. Tarth about?”

“Unfortunately, no, my father is much too ill to be moving about the country and so he sent me in his stead to fetch Miss Poole,” said the taciturn Brienne.

“How is Miss Poole faring?” Sansa asked. She would not consider herself Jeyne’s friend, but Sansa remembered all too well what it felt like to lose one’s father and be all alone in the world.

“As well as she can be given the circumstances, I suppose,” Brienne said, looking dreadfully uncomfortable.

“Might I see her?” Sansa asked, and Jon looked at her as if he was not sure what to make of her request.

“She’s in her room,” Brienne replied, “She has hardly come out since I arrived.”

“Maybe I might try to coax her out?”

“If you wish,” said Brienne, looking at her wits end at how to deal with a girl like Jeyne Poole.

A servant led Sansa up the stairs to one of the rooms at the far side of the second story corridor.

“She’s not taken anything to eat today, Ma’am,” said the servant, warily.

“Thank you, perhaps you might send her up some light broth?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” the servant curtsied and scurried off.

Sansa knocked on the door.

“Go away!” came the distressed voice on the other side, obviously in tears.

“Jeyne?” Sansa called out, “It’s Sansa Snow.”

A few moments later, Jeyne threw open the door. Her hair was askew and there were tear tracks staining her cheeks.

“Did that woman send you up here?” Jeyne asked suspiciously.

“No,” Sansa said cautiously, “I came to see how you were faring.”

“Dreadfully,” Jeyne sobbed and opened the door wide enough to allow Sansa into her room before shutting the door again, “That woman and her father are forcing me to move South! I hate England! If we were to go Edinburgh or France, I would not be so cross, but England is a horrid place.”

Jeyne plopped onto her bed quite ungracefully, and Sansa sat down beside her.

“England is not so very bad,” Sansa tried to offer.

“And how could you say so? I know you suffered there,” Jeyne whimpered. Sansa did not care for the fact that Jeyne had acquired such intimate details of her life, through Baelish’s vile tongue no doubt, but there was naught to be done for it now.

“Well, the country itself was not at fault,” Sansa said with a smile trying to brighten things.

“What if the Tarth’s are cruel?” Jeyne asked, taking Sansa’s hand as if they were close friends.

Sansa sighed, there would be no guarantees on that account she knew, “Has Lady Brienne been cruel to you?” Sansa knew if the Lady Brienne had been, Jon would have words with her.

“She’s forbade me to see my sweet Ramsey!” Jeyne wailed.

Sansa knew she now tread upon fragile ground, “Its not so very long until you come of age, perhaps it will do you well to have some distance from Ramsey, meet other people so that you might have a better idea of the type of man you wish to marry.”

“I want him,” Jeyne cried, “You don’t understand, because your name is already so very ancient, maybe not so ancient as your maiden name, but still… The Poole’s may have money, but it is new money, and you don’t know what it is like to go out and have others stare down their noses at you, as if you were the kitchen maid aspiring to means beyond your station.”

Aunt Lysa had treated her thus, though Sansa had always held her head high, knowing that the name of Stark held far more honor than that of Tully or Arryn, whether her Aunt Lysa knew it or not. Before the last Jacobite Rebellion, the Starks had led their small clan with prodigious honor, an honor that echoed even as the English had suppressed the clan system in the late 18th century. Though her name was now Snow, Jon was her cousin still, and so in a way as Lord of Winterfell, was a Stark by default. Perhaps Sansa did not know what it was like to have no name. But did someone truly and voluntarily wish to be tied to the Bolton name? Perhaps Sansa was a snob to think such a thing?

“I may not know what it is like to have no name,” Sansa began, “But I do know what it is like to have no one, and to be taken from everything I hold dear.”

Jeyne looked at her.

“Lady Brienne does not seem so very bad, and I hope her father is kind,” Sansa said, “You must be strong, for there is not much that can be done in cases such as these.”

“Except to marry,” Jeyne sniffled and looked at Sansa significantly. Sansa supposed she had married out of her troubles, even though she was young. Jon had opened a door for her, and she had run through it… but if she had not, she knew Aunt Lysa would have had her out on the street. Baelish’s leering stares and inappropriate advances were becoming far to bold, despite Sansa’s attempts to avoid him. Aunt Lysa had noticed.

“Be brave, Jeyne,” Sansa admonished, “You will be back home soon, a few years is not so very long.”

“It shall feel an eternity,” Jeyne moaned.

“Come now,” Sansa pulled on her arm and made to stand, “You must freshen yourself up and come down and eat something.”

“How can I eat?”

“You must eat,” Sansa urged.

“I think I shall be sick if I eat,” Jeyne said.

“Then sick you shall be,” Sansa said firmly, having little sympathy for that type of girlishness, “You must eat.”

“You are very bossy, Lady Sansa,” Jeyne whined but stood to her feet nonetheless, “You are as bad as Lady Brienne, though I think you issue commands with far more grace.”

“Well, I thank you, but I shan’t leave until you have a full belly,” Sansa said.

Jeyne considered her for a moment, and then sighed, “Very well, if only to give us both some peace.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Jon and Sansa left after Jeyne had successfully devoured, without any signs of illness, several small cucumber sandwiches, and some soup and two cups of tea. Sansa was satisfied, and though she still was not quite sure what to make of Lady Brienne, she did not think the Tarth’s meant Jeyne ill, though Sansa further knew that looks could be deceptive.

“While you were speaking with Jeyne, I spoke some with Lady Brienne,” said Jon.

Sansa giggled, “Well, I should hope the two of you did not sit silence.”

Jon smiled, and took her hand and kissed it. She was growing accustom to his gestures of affection, but she was still learning to trust them. She knew she was lucky to have Jon… many women in her predicament were not half so lucky.

“I think Jeyne will do well with them.”

“Still they are taking her from her home,” Sansa said.

“Aye, but it doesn’t seem able to be helped under the circumstances,” Jon said, “And besides, I think it will do her good to have space from Ramsey.”

Sansa could not argue with him on that count. He was right. Jeyne needed to be taken as far away from Ramsey as possible.

“I had considered calling upon Randa Royce, before the day is out, do you wish to accompany me? Or shall I drop you home?” Sansa asked with a smile.

Jon pretended to groan, “I suppose I shall not leave you to roam the countryside alone.”

Sansa took his hand much like he often did to her and kissed his knuckles. He grinned softly at her. “You shall be my hostage for the day then?” She asked.

“Aye, I’ll gladly be your hostage,” Jon said, his eyes turning that beautiful wild that she was coming to crave. Jon’s hand came to the nape of her neck and pulled her toward him. Flustered, Sansa was not done teasing.

“I shall be a harsh captor,” She promised, with a breathless giggle. 

Jon shook his head, and drew closer, “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

“Do you not?” Sansa’s voice quavered, and they looked into each other’s eyes.

Jon shook his head again and kissed her.

Sansa melted against him.

“I do believe you’d give your last piece of bread to even your worst hostage,” Jon chuckled against her mouth.

“Do you think I keep many hostages?” Sansa teased.

He kissed her again, “I am happy to be your only hostage.”

Sansa put her hand against his heart, “Good, for I shall have no others.”

Another kiss, and Jon surprised her by nibbling at her ear.

Sansa pushed his face away making him laugh, “Jon, we’re are not alone.”

“Ack, you need not fret yourself over me, Lady Sansa, I know what goes on,” Tormund, driving the horses, bellowed, “My family all grew up in a one room cottage, we had no secrets.”

Sansa felt her face blush bright red, but she laughed and buried her face against Jon’s neck in embarrassment. Smiling, Jon touched her cheek, keeping her against his shoulder. Sansa wrapped her arm around his waist and reveled in the security and affection she found his arms.

* * *

Randa was in top form when they found her. She poured tea and prattled on about the goings on of the town.

“It’s truly all I have to do,” Randa complained as she poured them each a cup of tea, “Since returning to be with my father, there’s nothing for me except to be poking about in other people’s business, it’s quite wretched really.”

Sansa and Jon exchanged surreptitious smiles and sipped their tea.

“Have you no dealings with your late husband’s estate?” Jon asked.

“Heaven’s no,” Randa exclaimed, “That wretched old place was inherited by the son of his first wife, he left a generous allowance for me to be sure, as he was a nice old codger, but everything else went to the son and so I returned to my own father. I did not feel right being a burden on a young man who was not my own son, and who was not much younger than I was myself. It would have made things quite awkward.”

Sansa was not always sure what to make of the casual way Randa spoke of her personal life, but it never failed to amuse.

“Unfortunately, though with my mother here and my father, I simply have no occupation but to knit frivolous things and gossip.”

“Perhaps you might purchase your own estate?” Jon suggested.

Randa scoffed, “Really, Jon Snow, don’t be so utterly ridiculous. I would then have far too much to do, and would have absolutely no time for any gossip,” Randa looked between both, “So are you really not going to say a word about Jeyne?”

“The Tarth’s are taking her to England,” Jon said.

“And forbade her to see Ramsey Bolton,” Sansa added.

“Good,” Randa said firmly, “Though I would not consider her my friend, I don’t wish to see the little fool come to harm, she’s so very young and dangerously naive.”

“She is very keen to marry, but she is not even eighteen,” Sansa said.

“Speaking of marriage, Mya Stone has started walking about with a most acceptable young man,” said Randa with a smile and a toss of her drop curls.

“Truly?” nothing could make Sansa more happy, as she knew that young man to be Podrick.

“Aye, indeed,” Randa chuckled.

“And who is the young man?” Jon asked. Sansa knew he had vested interest in Mya’s happiness, considering his brother’s part in her unhappiness.

“Podrick,” Randa exclaimed excitedly.

Jon shot Sansa an odd and concerned look that she could not quite discern.

“I’m glad,” Sansa said, and looked at Jon once again. She frowned, unsure why he looked so uncertain and worried.

* * *

After tea with Randa, Jon and Sansa headed home toward Winterfell in their carriage with Tormund driving their horses. Sansa went to hold onto Jon as they had done on their way to Randa’s, and though Jon’s arm came around her and his fingers toyed with the ends of her hair, he was rather quiet. Sansa breathed in deep of the fresh Scottish air and touched the buttons of his waist coat. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, and then the top of her head. He was quiet the entire ride home. Sansa wondered what she had done wrong to silence him so. She went to get out of the carriage, and Jon did not give Tormund the warning look that he usually did but allowed Tormund to do his duty and hand her from the carriage. He did wait for her and took her hand as they went up their stairs to their shared study. He sat down in his chair, as Sansa bent to pet the dogs.

“Hello lovelies,” Sansa scratched Ghost behind the ears, and Lady jumped on her skirts, clamoring for her attention. When she stood up, she got rather dizzy. Jon was at her side in a instant with a hand to her elbow.

“Alright, love?” asked Jon.

“We’re fine, Jon, just stood up too quickly,” Sansa said, and he led her to his chair and urged her to sit. He made to move away but she took his hand, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes of course, I’m fine,” Jon said, and sat down on the edge of the desk.

Sansa frowned and touched her belly protectively, looking down at her shoes, “Have I done something?”

Jon looked at her, “No, of course not.”

“You’ve just grown rather quiet,” Sansa said, as she gnawed on her lip.

Jon smiled sadly, stroking a finger down her cheek, “Are you alright?”

“Me and our baby are just fine, Jon,” Sansa took his hand.

“That’s not what I mean,” Jon said, his brow furrowed, “Did what Randa say… are you alright?”

“What ever do you mean, Jon?”

“Podrick and Mya,” Jon cleared his throat as if he was asking her a very difficult question, “Are you alright?”

“Of course, I am.”

Jon stroked her knuckles, “I thought… I thought you were fond of him.”

Sansa did not quite understand what he was asking, “I’m fond of them both. I want them to be happy.”

“Are you happy?” Jon asked.

“Jon if there is something you are trying to ask me, please do so,” Sansa demanded, suddenly feeling cross for his vagueness.

“I’m trying,” Jon said, his voice strained with emotion.

“What is it?” Sansa pressed.

“Podrick,” Jon said simply, “I thought that you might be upset about him and Mya... Hurting.”

Sansa paced, mulling over his words. What was he asking her? Hurting? Why would she be upset by Mya and Podrick? Surely, Podrick was a better choice than Aegon?

“Me?” Sansa asked, the wheels turning in her mind.

“Yes, you,” Jon said, with a strange sort of resignation.

Understanding began to dawn on Sansa. Did he think she cared for Podrick? That she wanted Podrick? Anger was her first reaction, as she marched across the room away from him, her head spinning, “Are you… Are you accusing me of being unfaithful?”

Jon sat there, “God, no, no…. I would never think that of you.”

“Then what are you trying to ask?” Sansa demanded, as she stared out the window.

“I want to know if he’s hurt you,” Jon said, “I want to know if you care for him?”

Inclined to be angry, Sansa whirled around to face him, but instead of the jealous husband she expected to find, she saw a rejected little boy… never chosen… and never loved. Her heart grew tender and her anger evaporated. Her continued silence seemed to make him nervous, and he shifted on the edge of the desk and looked down at his feet.

“I know you have never been given the chance to choose,” Jon said softly, “I know… I know you would never be unfaithful, that’s not who you are… but I wonder if you had been given the chance to choose someone… that maybe you would have chosen him…” He looked at her briefly before looking down at the floor again, “…. Instead of me.”

All her anger evaporated like water, and she felt both guilt for her own indiscretion, and broken hearted that Jon thought himself so unworthy of her choice. She came to his side and threaded her fingers through his soft curls. Had she made him feel that way? He looked up at her as she continued to stroke his hair.

“I don’t want Podrick,” She assured softly, “I never wanted Podrick.”

His eyes were so vulnerable that Sansa thought her heart might shatter to see how such a strong man had given her so much power to wound him. Was this what love was? 

“I’m sorry, Jon, I’m so sorry for any indiscretions on my part…” Sansa said, hearing her voice crack, “That have made you think I wanted him over you.”

He nodded, his hand coming to rest on her waist. She stroked his cheek.

“You are not that rejected little boy anymore, living in your brother’s shadow,” Sansa said firmly, “You’re a man, and I am proud to call you my husband…” She was not sure she could yet utter words of love to him, but she wanted to love no one but him. He looked up at her, and she cupped his cheeks in her hands, “I want no one but you,” she said, and Sansa kissed him.


	49. Learning Together (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been so long since I've updated, between being super busy in real life and having some pretty extreme writer's block its been a struggle. I'm not sure how this chapter turned out but I hope everyone enjoys! I'm trying to get this story moved along but I feel a little stuck, I hope you can all bare with me, while I get unstuck!
> 
> Thanks for reading and for your encouraging comments! I appreciate you all!
> 
> This chapter picks up, immediately where the last one left off.

“I want no one but you,” Sansa said softly, and she kissed him, as she continued to stroke his hair. Jon’s heart leapt at her words. Taking his hand, she placed it on her still flat belly, “You put this baby in me, and after this one, I want another, and another, and another until this house is filled with love and laughter again. You gave me back my home, and now I want to give a home to you.”

She had fallen pregnant so easily. They would have to be careful or she would spend all her young years pregnant, as Jon would happily bed her as often as she desired. Jon flexed his fingers and flattened them against her belly once more.

“I want no one but you, Jon,” She whispered again brushing her nose against his, almost in imitation of an action he had done to her so many times before when they were abed together. She had never done it to him. Jon could feel her hands shaking as she pulled him up from where he was seated. Her footsteps were hesitant as she drew him toward their room. Silently, Jon followed her.

It had been the hardest question he had ever asked anyone… to ask his precious wife if she cared for another man. He had steeled himself, prepared himself to provide her comfort if her heart was broken, but for all his preparation the idea wounded him just the same. His heart was rubbed raw in a way that he was not accustomed to. Yet here she was professing that she wanted no one but him. Jon could have wept with relief. She was still holding his hand as she led them to their room and stopped in front of the bed. She was looking at the bed as if trying to make a decision. Turning around to face him, she was gnawing her lower lip and Jon could not discern what was on her mind. He reached out and touched her cheek.

“What is it, leannan?” Jon asked.

She looked up at him and then reached for the laces on his trousers. Jon’s breath caught in his chest. While he hoped and believed that she enjoyed their couplings, Sansa rarely initiated their loving, save that first night when she had asked him to give her a baby. He had never been able to determine if she had been too scared to initiate or if she thought it unladylike, but she rarely initiated, and he had never asked why, as he did not want to embarrass her. He merely strove to please her. Once his pants fell down around his feet, Sansa looked up at him again.

“Help me with my laces,” She said softly, and turned her back to him.

Sucking in a breath, Jon ran his hand down the length of her back as he first unbuttoned her dress, letting it fall to the floor, before unlacing her corset. She finally stood before him in her shift, and she turned around to face him once more.

“I… I want…” Sansa stumbled, “I want to please you.”

Jon smiled and leaned down to kiss her. He felt her melt into his arms, and when the kiss broke, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his shoulder. For a few silent moments, Jon just held his wife, letting all of his fears and worries go. She wanted him… and only him.

“You please me every day,” Jon told her and kissed the top of her head.

“I want to please you here,” She said simply, and then looked up at him, “But I don’t know what to do.”

Jon smiled and cupped her cheeks in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “You please me here too…”

Sansa gave him a tender smile, but still seemed lost in thought. Slowly, Jon sat down on the bed and drew her toward him, until she was standing between his knees.

“Don’t be nervous,” Jon said with a smile.

Sansa gave him a teasing glare, “I’m not nervous… not anymore… I just want to do it right.”

Jon patted the bed on either side of him, and her eyes went wide, “Trust me, my love, there is little you could do wrong.”

She gnawed her lip and allowed herself to be led to straddle his lap, “I doubt that.”

“Don’t doubt it,” Jon sighed in contentment as she settled in his lap, with her legs on either side of him. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Sansa leaned forward and kissed him.

“May I touch you?” Sansa whispered, “Like you touch me?”

“Yes,” Jon held her gaze and thought he would come undone right then and there when her soft fingers touched him. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he took a deep breath and tried to compose himself.

“Is that alright?” Sansa asked, her voice concerned. Jon pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

“Aye, love.”

“I’m not hurting you?” She asked innocently, after he gasped.

“Far from it,” said Jon.

When the pressure became too much and Jon thought he might lose himself, he had to capture her wrist and pull her hand from him. She blushed prettily and nuzzled her face against his neck.

“Did I do it wrong?” She asked curiously.

“No, no….” Jon chuckled and kissed her head, “But I nearly finished in your hand, love, and I’d rather finish elsewhere.”

Her cheeks were now bright red as she took his meaning.

“May we?” Jon asked, putting his hands on her waist to guide her over him.

She nodded, “Can it be done like this?”

Jon smiled at her, “It can be done any way we want, as long as it is pleasing.”

The tender look in her eyes pleased him very much. Drawing her with him, he moved back to lean against the headboard of the bed, and Sansa settled in his lap once more. It took a few moments of sheepish smiles, and awkward movements, but Sansa gasped softly as he slid inside her. Her head dropped to lay on his shoulder, and he held her, stroking her back, trying to control himself and revel in her sweetness as they learned how best to please each other. When he started to rock up into her, her hips slowly began to meet his, he felt that beautiful oneness, a sense of coming home, that he felt whenever they were together like this. She was shaking in his arms and he held her tighter.

“I love you,” Jon whispered, and groaned as they moved together.

Sansa nodded vigorously against his neck, her arms tight around his shoulders.

Jon prayed, though he wondered if it was sacrilegious to pray in such state, that one day she might be able to say those words back to him. She had said she wanted to give him a home, but he did not think she realized that she was already his home. While he could not be happier or prouder about the babe made from their union, he hoped she would understand that even if it had only been the two of them for the rest of their lives, she would still be his home.

* * *

Jon liked manual labor… he always had, which was why he always thought he would make a better shepherd than he would a lord. He had been in the village today attending to a few repairs on tenant houses. Autumn would be settling in soon, and winter would not be far behind. He would not have his tenants freeze due to leaking roofs. His hands, however, were a little worse for wear today.

“You drive yourself too hard, lad,” said Davos as they stood in the Seaworth kitchen discussing upcoming harvests and shipments of said harvest to markets, “You have the money to hire someone to do these sorts of repairs.”

“I know,” Jon sighed, “But I like doing it, it makes me feel useful and it gives my people a chance to have my ear for a little while.”

Davos nodded.

“I think your people know that they have your ear regardless of whether or not you run yourself ragged,” Marya scolded with a smile as she entered the kitchen with a basin of water and some salve for the blisters on his hands, “How’s Sansa doing? She came up for tea a few days ago but I have not seen her much in the last few weeks.” 

“She’s well,” Jon said, “The sickness is still giving her trouble, especially in the mornings.”

“Sickness?” Marya asked curiously.

“From the babe,” Jon said simply, a little puzzled by Marya’s question. Had Sansa not told Marya? Jon frowned as he remembered that she had not told Randa either when they had been up visiting her. Was she not prepared to tell people? Even her friends?

“She’s with child?” Marya asked with a giddy smile.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I imagined she had already told you.”

Marya patted his arm, “She will tell people in her own time, so you had better be sure she wants to tell people before you go saying things.”

“Aye, you’re right,” Jon chuckled, “I had hoped you would attend the birth, what with your… experience…”

“I will,” Marya said with a kind smile, “But only if Sansa wants me there, who a woman has with her in the birthing room should be a very personal choice for her.”

Jon had not thought much about the birth, save that he wanted Sansa safe and cared for, “I think she’s scared,” Jon explained softly.

“It’s a very understandable fear,” Marya said, “This is her first, and she's young, and she does not have her mother here for her. She needs to know she is not alone.”

Jon nodded.

“And you, perhaps more than anyone else, have the ability to do that,” Marya said, “Now let me see to those sores on your hands so your sweet wife doesn’t have to take care of your wounds alongside taking care of herself.”

Chuckling, Jon gave her his hands so that she could examine them, “Should I stop by Sam’s on my way home?”

“Oh, I don’t think they are that deep, but if it sets your mind at ease,” said Marya. Jon had never known the care of a mother, Marya was perhaps the closest to a mother figure he had ever known. Sometimes he wondered what his own mother had been like. His father never spoke of her, and she had died when Aegon was barley more than a babe himself… not that Aegon would recall her fondly, as he always considered her the woman who took his own mother’s place, though Aegon could remember his own mother even less. Would she have been gentle and nurturing like Marya and Sansa? Jon wondered what he and Sansa would be like as parents. He knew Sansa would be an excellent mother, as she was nurturing and tender in the way that he imagined all good mothers to be. Would he be a good father? Jon frowned at the thought. His own father had been cold and distant, and at times even cruel. What did Jon know of being a good father?

“Brienne Tarth and Jeyne Poole will be leaving for London sometime in the next week,” said Davos.

“Yes,” Jon mused, “I met Lady Brienne, and she seems keen to return south, and I think equally keen to separate Jeyne and Ramsey.”

“A wise decision on her part,” said Davos.

“How that girl’s father let that vile creature anywhere near his only daughter is beyond me,” Marya huffed in exasperation.

“I suppose Vayon Poole was blinded by family names and lineages that superseded his own,” said Davos, “But no daughter of mine would be walking out with the likes of Ramsey Bolton.”

“The sooner they are separated the better,” Jon could not agree more.

“The Bolton’s are trying to buy up land around Winterfell,” Davos informed him.

That did not surprise Jon, “Bolton wants Winterfell, he even tried to obtain it through Sansa years ago before he knew Sansa would not inherit.”

“I suspect that is why Ramsey is so keen on marrying Jeyne,” Davos grumbled, “She is set to inherit her estate and it borders Winterfell.”

“I suppose they think if they hem me in, that Sansa and I will just up and abandoned Winterfell,” Jon rolled his eyes, “As if we could be intimidated.”

“Whatever happens, Jon, be careful,” Davos warned, “Roose and Ramsey Bolton are not men to be trifled with.”

Jon nodded, “Aye, they are not.”

“That is also why Roose Bolton should not be allowed to take that magistrate’s seat,” said Marya, rather pointedly.

Jon huffed.

“Marya,” Davos warned.

“I’m just making an observation,” said Marya with an innocent smile.

That magistrate’s seat was the last thing Jon wanted, what did he know of judging men? He just wanted to make babies with Sansa and tend his sheep. Why could the world not leave him in peace? Jon thought of his tenants and the common folk in town and wondered what would become of them if Roose Bolton was left unchecked. Jon sighed, as he thought of Winterfell. What lengths would Roose and Ramsey Bolton go to, to get Winterfell in their possession?

* * *

When Jon arrived home, Cook assailed him in the entryway. She nearly growled at him.

“That great lumbering oaf, Tormund, bid me give these to ye, brought 'em up from town he did,” Cook handed Jon a few letters, “Handed ‘em to me bold as brass, as if I were his messenger boy!”

Jon chuckled, “I’m sorry, Cook, I’ll be sure to remind Tormund that you do not receive the mail.”   
“You do that,” Cook warned with her hands on her hips, “While you are about it, you should also be sending out for the doctor for the lady.”

Jon met Cook’s eyes, alarmed, “Why? Is she alright? Is she sick?”

“Don’t be getting your knickers in a knot,” Cook retorted, with a huff, “And seeing as you’re responsible for her being the way she is, you should know that she is expecting a wee bairn,” Cook shook her head, “And I don’t even think she knows it, poor thing, and I am not the one to tell her! No sir, you cannot make me.”

Jon started to laugh which only made Cook more irritable.

“She asked me to send her pickled cucumbers and eggs, and not a word about it, as if that was a normal thing for a body to be eating,” Cook continued to shake her head at Jon, “Only a woman expecting would be wanting such oddities… and I am not going to tell her…”

Jon laughed and put a hand on Cook’s shoulder, trying to compose himself, “Cook, you need not tell her…”

“I won’t be the one telling her,” Cook interrupted crossing her arms over her chest.

“She already knows,” Jon assured.

“She does?” Cook’s frowned turned into a smile, “Well… well in that case, my lady, can have as much pickles and eggs as the wee’un desires. I should have the maid pluck me some more cucumbers from the garden, knowing as you don’t like them, I don’t make quite as many. We will need some more. Why didn’t she say anything?”

“I think she wants to keep it quiet a little longer,” Jon said, “So don’t be spreading it about the estate.”

Cook was aghast, “I would never!”

Jon chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I gossip, sir,” Cook huffed.

“Was it an insinuation?” Jon teased, knowing very well that half the gossip that circulated in this town originated from Cook… were she and Randa of similar age and station they would get along fetchingly. He knew well, though, that she would never speak ill of him and Sansa. He did fear that her excitement for them to have a child might entice her to spread their news prematurely.

“Well… whether it be true or not… I still don’t appreciate the insinuation,” said Cook with a scowl and she turned on her heel and marched herself back to the kitchen.

Smiling, Jon went in search of Sansa with their letters in his hands. There was one for him and one for her. He found her bent over ledgers at their desk in the study. She was sitting his chair and there was knitting sprawled over hers. She looked up and smiled at him. He picked up the knitting to move it so he could sit down in her usual chair, and she frowned.

“I was making something for the baby,” She said, still with a frown upon her face.

Jon looked at the half-knitted item and could not discern what it was.

“No need to look so puzzled,” She said irritably, “It’s a mess.”

“No, no, its… um…” Jon studied it, still not sure what she had been trying to make.

“I used to be better at knitting,” She said, “I’m out of practice, I took to embroidery while I lived with Aunt Lysa and did not practice my knitting much.”

“Its fine…” Jon tried.

That made her smile, “It’s atrocious, I tried to do it without a pattern.”

Jon chuckled, and set the knitting aside, “There’s plenty of time.”

“The baby is going to come in winter, I wanted him to have something warm,” Sansa explained as she looked back down at the ledger.

Jon leaned over and kissed her cheek, “There’s plenty of time.”

She smiled.

“Cook has been telling me about your eating habits,” Jon teased, leaning back in the chair.

“She looked at me as if I had taken leave of my senses!” Sansa protested, with a grin.

“She’s knows…”

“Knows?”

“Sansa…” Jon scratched his beard.

She nodded, “I suppose we cannot keep him a secret between us….”

“And Sam and Gilly…”

“We can’t keep him a secret forever,” Sansa said, taking a bite of the scone she had sitting beside her. She offered him a bite, and he took it, eating it from her hand.

“No, I suppose not,” said Jon.

“Sometimes, I wish it were just me and you with our baby and our sheep together in the woods somewhere,” She said with a sweet smile.

“Aye, me too,” Jon leaned over and kissed her cheek again, before she offered him another bite of her scone before taking one herself.

“I love Winterfell, and our people, so I suppose I wouldn’t really want that, not really,” Sansa said, “But sometimes it sounds appealing.”

“Yes.” Jon agreed, though he suspected he wished for it, far more often than she did. They would be alright though, as long as they had each other, whether they lived in a cabin in the woods or in their castle, “You received a letter,” Jon handed her the letter, and started to open his own.

Sansa frowned, nearly scowled.

“Who’s it from?” Jon asked.

“Baelish.”

Rage shot through him, he knew Baelish had written her once before and he hated that the snake had so much boldness. Sansa tossed the letter aside without reading it.

“I want to be free of him,” She said.

“We’ll not have him here again,” said Jon.

She nodded, looking angry and wounded, “Who is your letter from?”

Jon opened the letter and sighed, “My aunt Dany.”

“Your Aunt Dany?”

“Apparently she is expecting and wants us to come for the christening in about a month’s time,” Jon had not known she was expecting. She and her husband had been married long enough without children, that people in their social circles had begun to talk. Jon and Dany did not have the easiest of relationships… in fact, for many years he blamed her for losing Ygritte. Still, he did not wish to see her being talked about in hushed whispers by cruel socialites who had no idea the pain that the inability to have children could cause.

“Do you wish to go?” Sansa asked, reaching over and taking his hand.

“I don’t know,” Jon sighed, “Aegon will be there, and possibly Viserys.”

“They are your family, but we don’t have to go if you do not wish it,” said Sansa, “It will be near enough to harvest time, that we could make excuses.” 

“Aegon and Dany I can tolerate,” Jon said, “It is Viserys’ whose presence I cannot abide.”

“Well, we have time to consider.”

Sighing deeply, Jon gave her hand a squeeze, “Aye, we have time.”


	50. A Trip to Town (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little chapter. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Everyone's thoughtful and encouraging comments have kept me motivated, even as I have been struggling with a bit of writer's block over the last few weeks! Thank you all so much!

“I shall embroider you a lovely satin baby dress for your infant to wear to church on most Sundays,” said Randa with a giddy smile as Sansa poured her some tea. Randa accepted the tea and eyed Sansa with a teasing glint in her eye, “Are you truly with child?”

“Yes,” Sansa chuckled, “What makes you think otherwise?”

“You’re so very small,” Randa replied, looking her over.

“I am fairly certain it takes some time before the babe starts to show,” Sansa said, though she knew little of such things.

“I’m sure Lord Jon is proud as a peacock,” Randa grinned.

“He seems so,” Sansa said, though she did not really understand the sentiment.

“Men are you always proud of such things,” Randa chortled with a sort of worldly knowledge that at times made Sansa feel very young, “Can you feel the babe?” Randa asked curiously.

Sansa looked about the room to ensure no one was listening, “Sometimes I think I can.”

Randa smiled.

“You’ve never…?” Sansa was not sure what she was trying to ask, but she knew Randa had been married to her late husband for several years, and there were no children to her knowledge. Had Randa lost a baby? Sansa cringed.

“No,” Randa said somewhat sadly, before her giddiness returned, “Though it is a wonder, as my late husband tried to get me with child often enough. He was on me most every night.”

Sansa felt her face flush to the very roots of her hair as she took another sip of tea. She had never heard anyone speak so brashly of intimacies between a man and woman as Randa did. It simply was not an appropriate topic of conversation in polite society. Randa, however, had no qualms about it.

“You had best be careful after this one,” Randa teased, “You fell pregnant so quickly, you are likely to be with child for all your young years.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. How could they be careful? Would she and Jon need to cease their intimacies? The idea made her somewhat sad, though she still felt she was becoming accustom to her and Jon’s time abed, she was fond of being close to him in that way… and babes were the natural consequence of being close in that way.

“Jon and I do want more than one,” Sansa said simply.

“Well, you shall certainly have more than one, if precautions are not taken,” Randa snorted with laughter.

“Did you… did you… um, take precautions?” Sansa asked, not sure she understood what precautions could be taken.

“Oh, lord no,” Randa said, setting her teacup to the side, “my husband wanted to get me with child, he was quite determined, but it simply never took.”

Sansa nodded.

“I’m afraid I may be…” Randa cleared her throat, “I’m likely barren…”

“Oh, Randa, I’m sorry, I did not mean to pry,” Sansa tried to apologize but Randa waved off her concern.

“It is no bother now, since my husband is dead and gone,” Randa said, “But it seems the only explanation, as we tried for so long to no avail, and certainly no precautions were taken.”

Sansa wondered how it was that someone young and vibrant like Randa could be barren… it did not seem fair, “How… how is it that precautions could be taken?”

“I think perhaps you should ask Jon,” Randa laughed, making Sansa’s face turn red.

“No, I could never…” Sansa denied. She did not think she could actually speak with Jon about such matters… she would be mortified to say the least. Her words only seemed to further amuse Randa.

“Considering he is the one that got you in this condition, it seems you should be able to talk to him about such things more than anyone else,” Randa said with a sympathetic smile, “Though I know talking is not always easy in an arrangement such as yours.”

Sansa took another harried sip of her tea. How widely spread the knowledge of her and Jon’s marital arrangement never ceased to make her uncomfortable, though she knew arrangements such as theirs were not uncommon.

“Jon… he…” Sansa stumbled over her words, “He loves me.”

“Any fool could see that, my dear,” Randa beamed at her, “And it’s all the more reason to talk to him about these matters.”

Sansa nodded.

“You could always get him to use his mouth,” Randa said with a mischievous smile, “My late husband and I did that once or twice when he was not feeling quite _up_ to the task.”

Sansa did not think she could be any more embarrassed today and that only seemed to encourage Randa’s brashness. Jon had tried once to put his mouth on her, and she had stopped him. She would not tell Randa that, but perhaps it was not so strange a thing?

* * *

After tea, she and Randa were to make their way to town. Randa had determined that she must sew a baby garment for Sansa and Sansa wanted some fabric of her own to make a christening gown for their baby. She had continued to practice her knitting, but her knitting was coming along much more slowly than she would have liked. She did fine work, however, with a needle. It had once been commented on by one of Mrs. Baratheon’s friends that her needlework was fine enough to be sold in fancy shops in London, and though Sansa never sold her needlework, the thought always made her rather proud. Before leaving she ascended the stairs to see Jon and let him know that she would return before supper. She found him bent over paperwork with that permanent wrinkle in his forehead that he always got when he was worried or thinking too hard.

“Jon?”

He looked up and smiled at her, “Are you and Randa having a good time?”

Sansa chuckled, having no intention of telling him anything regarding her and Randa’s topics of conversation, “Indeed, we are going to town, I shall be back before supper. We are going to the drapers, and perhaps the ribbon shop.”

“Do you need some money?” He asked with a pleasant smile. Sansa was growing more accustom to sharing their life together, and seeing their resources as both of theirs, instead of just his, but still after so many years of going without, it was hard to learn to ask for what she needed or to simply take what she needed though he always assured her that she need not ask his permission. He seemed to understand her struggles, though, and made an effort to offer when he could, to spare her the need to ask.

“Thank you, but I still have some to spare from last week,” Sansa explained.

He furrowed his brow and opened the drawer where they kept their spending money, from which they each drew their weekly allowance. He had told her time and again that this money was there for both of their everyday use and she need not ask him for it, but still, the only time she had ever taken from the drawer without him offering was once when he was out of town on business and not around to ask or offer.

Standing, he came around from the other side of the desk, and placed the extra money in her hand, and kissed her forehead.

“Jon, I don’t need this much, I’m simply getting some fabric and maybe some small bits of ribbon, to work on making a christening dress for the baby,” Sansa said.

Jon sighed, “I don’t want you to be without if something else catches your eye.”

“But…” Sansa started to argue.

“Sansa,” He took her hand, “We are not short on funds, I’ve told you before that this money is here for our everyday use.”

Sansa looked at him.

“I trust you, Sansa, I know you are not frivolous and I know you make economies where you can,” Jon said, “You don’t need my permission to use our money, its belongs to you as much as me. You are the Lady of Winterfell.”

Sansa nodded. Sometimes she did not feel like the Lady of Winterfell. Her mother had been the Lady of Winterfell, not her. How long would it take before the role truly felt like her own? 

“Now, go have a good time with Randa, and stop fretting yourself over money,” Jon said, “Spend it all if you like.”

“Very well,” Sansa said with a grin and he kissed her. Giving her bottom a playful pat, he ushered her toward the door.

* * *

Randa and Sansa found the fabrics they were looking for at the drapers and continued down the street back toward where they had left Tormund and the carriage.

“I find it surprising that so little wool is sold at the drapers,” Sansa commented as they made their way down the street.

“The majority of the county’s wool is exported to the south to the woolen mills for processing,” Randa said simply.

Sansa knew that Jon wanted to start a woolen mill here to earn more on their exported wool and provide more employment for local families who were no longer able to tenant farm. He had had little success, which always made Sansa sad. He needed investors for the venture and the local landowners were all surly old-fashioned men who were unwilling to take gambles.

“Seems like the local sheep farms could make more money on their wool, if we processed it ourselves.”

Randa chuckled, “Good lord, Lady Sansa, how thoroughly scandalized the men of the community would be to hear you discussing revenues and economy.”

Sansa chuckled. Jon liked it when she spoke with him about business matters, it helped them both clarify their thoughts and ideas, and while Jon managed their business and Sansa managed their household, they each found the other’s thoughts invaluable to the proper management of their estate. She knew, however, that most men of the county did not believe a woman capable of such industrial thoughts.

“It just seems like a wisdom to process our own wool, and sell directly to the markets, rather then selling our unprocessed wool in bulk to the mills and then the mills turning around to sell it to the markets at a profit that could have otherwise been ours.”

“What tedious thoughts for two young ladies such as yourselves to be occupying your conversation on such an afternoon,” came a voice from behind them.

Sansa cringed. Randa and Sansa both stopped and turned to find Ramsey Bolton walking behind them.

“Our discussions are of no import to you, Mr. Bolton,” Randa said with a huff, and looped her arm through Sansa’s.

Ramsey chuckled at them, “I heard very similar thoughts from the mouth of Lord Jon only a few weeks ago in the pub, I believe he was speaking to Mr. Glover, and now I see where Lord Jon is getting his outlandish notions.”

Sansa stiffened her spine and made to walk away with Randa but she could hear Ramsey’s footsteps behind him.

“I hear that congratulations are in order,” said Ramsey persistently.

Sansa said nothing and only continued to walk. News of her being with child had spread quickly as soon as they had announced it to the majority of their friends.

“Most impolite to not even acknowledge my congratulations,” Ramsey chuckled derisively, “But I suppose I can expect nothing less from a woman as English as you.”

“If you will please excuse us, Mr. Bolton, Lady Sansa, and I must be going home, we’re expected for supper at Winterfell,” Randa said, only turning enough to give him a nod off.

“Will you be accompanying Lord Jon on his trip to Edinburgh?” Ramsay asked, ignoring Randa and seeming unable to leave Sansa alone. Sansa had a sinking feeling in her stomach. How Ramsey knew that she and Jon would shortly be making a trip to Edinburgh to see Jon’s family, Sansa did not know.

“Aye, I will be,” Sansa said staunchly, and was thankful that they were now approaching the carriage and the large, and lumbering Tormund had stood from his carriage seat and was striding toward them. His eyes were locked on Bolton.

Ramsey gave her a vicious smile, “Good, tis cruel to separate two lovers like yourselves, even if for so short a time.”

Sansa nodded to him and he bowed.

Tormund reached them and put himself between Sansa and Bolton, “Let me help you with your packages, my lady,” said Tormund, eyeing Bolton but ignoring his odious presence. Tormund towered over Bolton and was an intimidating presence for anyone who might consider doing harm to Sansa. Tormund helped Randa and Sansa into the carriage and arranged their packages, and all the while Ramsey watched as they set off down the road.

“That vile bastard deserves to be locked away from all good society,” said Tormund, “Pardon my language, ladies.”

“I believe you have the right of it, Tormund,” Randa replied as she gave Sansa’s arm an encouraging pat.

“If Lord Jon were magistrate, his like would not walk free,” Tormund said resolutely. Sansa knew that was true, but why was it that Jon found himself so unworthy to be magistrate? Sansa did not understand his hesitance. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, she saw that Ramsey still stood in the distance watching them go.

* * *

Several mornings later, Sansa lay in Jon’s… their… large bed in nothing but her pantalettes. She smoothed her hand down her belly, feeling the slight swell that was finally beginning to show. She wondered if Jon had noticed. He had not said anything, but they had not been naked together much over the last few weeks, as her sickness that seemed to last all day and all night showed no signs of abatement. Lady crawled up from the foot of the bed to lick Sansa’s cheek. She giggled.

“I am unwell, sweet Lady,” Sansa scratched her behind the ears, but made no move to get up.

The door to Jon’s room swung open and Jon strode in. She blushed slightly at the fact that she was sprawled out topless on his bed. He smiled at her.

“The maid told me you were still abed, are you still unwell?” Jon asked, coming to sit beside her. He put a hand to her forehead and smoothed her hair back. Sansa let her eyes slide closed and relished his tender touches.

“I retched all over the front of my nightgown,” Sansa said softly, for that was truly the reason she was laying half naked in bed in the middle of the morning. She had retched on her gown and had not found the energy to dress herself yet. He stroked his finger across her cheek.

“Shall I send the maid up to help you?” Jon asked.

“No, I shall be alright,” Sansa whimpered with a smile, “I just have to rally myself.”

“If you need rest, you can rest, my love.”

“I need to get up and get on with my day, I need distraction,” Sansa said. He chuckled. “But…” She started and took his hand feeling strangely shy.

“But?” Jon urged.

“Feel,” She guided his hand down to her abdomen and flattened his palm over her belly. He stroked her there and a smile bloomed across his face. “That’s the babe. Or at least I think it is.”

Jon laughed, “You don’t think it’s the roast beef you finished off last night?”

Sansa playfully smacked his arm, and he laid down and snuggled up beside her. His hand never left her belly.

“Aye, it’s the babe,” Jon nuzzled his nose into her hair.

The love in his voice melted her heart. He made her so soft, and she was not always sure she could trust that softness, but she was coming to trust this man who had rescued her and brought her home.

“Are you sure you are well enough to make the trip to Edinburgh?” Jon asked as he continued to stroke her hair.

“Tha mi math gu leòr,” Sansa said in Gaelic and giggled when Jon beamed at her. He kissed her forehead.

“I am glad you are well now, but will you be well enough on the road?” Jon clarified.

“Yes, we’ll be in the carriage anyway, it is not as if I’ll be a horse the whole way,” Sansa said, and when he furrowed his brow in concern Sansa took his hand, “And it’s not as if I’m near my confinement.”   
“We can stay,” Jon offered.

“No, my darling,” Sansa said with a smile, “We have already sent our acceptance of the invitation, and besides we shall be staying at Dragonstone by invitation of Aegon, not with Viserys or Daenerys.”

Jon sighed, “My family…”

Sansa took his hand, “I know… but they are still family, we shall keep our relations, but we need not linger longer than necessary.”

Sansa wondered if pressuring him to see his family was wrong, particularly Aegon. She cared not if he maintained relations with Daenerys and Viserys, but Aegon was his brother. Sansa knew that she would give anything for one more day with Robb… for all his faults, Aegon was not evil, and she thought that perhaps Jon needed his brother. Jon need not be alone in the world, nor did Aegon. They had each other still.

“I’m sorry if I… if I pushed you to go to the christening when you did not want to go…” Sansa said turning so that she could snuggled against his chest.

Jon wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her bare shoulders, “You did not push me into anything, my love,” he said, “Are you cold?”

Sansa giggled, “It’s certainly getting colder.”

“Autumn is truly here.” Jon said, “When we return, we will have our harvest festival.”

Sansa smiled and kissed at his neck.

“And then this wee bairn will be even more visible,” Jon chuckled and touched her belly again.

Sansa blushed and touched his beard, “I need to dress.”

“I quite like you this way,” said Jon with a smile.

“You like me naked?”

“Aye, quite naked.”

“My darling,” Sansa wrapped her arms around him, “You are rather forward.”

Jon laughed, and Sansa loved the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled. He brushed his nose against hers.

“You’ve never called me that before,” Jon whispered.

“Do you not like it?” She asked, though she could see by the way he looked at her that he liked it very much.

He laughed and kissed her soundly. Gripping her leg in his strong hand, he pulled it over his hip. She could feel him, hard and seeking between her legs, though separated by his trousers. He was always eager for her. A naive part of her had thought he would not desire her body once he had gotten her with child, but thus far his appetites had not changed. Perhaps they would change when her belly grew? Would he find her less attractive then? Despite Randa's words, getting her with child was the point of the act after all. She would not push him away, though, she was coming to crave his tender but passionate touches. After placing another gentle kiss on her forehead, Jon pulled away, both aware that they had business to attend today before they left for Edinburgh.

“I wish I could stay abed with you all day,” Jon whispered breathlessly.

Sansa giggled, “Whatever would we do in bed all day?”

Jon’s eyes grew dark and mischievous, “I could thing of quite a few things.”

Sansa playfully rolled her eyes, and sat up, “You can help me dress before you get any further frisky ideas in the middle of broad day light.”

Jon threw back his head and laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: A trip to Edinburgh


	51. Moods and Movement (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon deal with pregnancy emotions on their way to Dragonstone
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading and for your lovely comments! I could not stay inspired without you!

Sansa had somehow rolled to the other side of the bed sometime in the night. Jon looked over at her slender frame and lovely red locks fanned out against her pillow. Last night, she had been all warmth and softness and affection, and the unruly part of Jon wanted to carry on this morning where they had left off last night, despite the fact that they were leaving for Edinburgh. He snuggled up against her back and smelled her hair, thinking of how she had panted and clung to him last night. God, she had been trembling for him, and he had wanted nothing else but to hold her and love her. He wrapped his arm around her waist.

She shifted and then groaned.

Brushing some hair back, Jon kissed her neck.

“Stop,” She said, her voice sounding rather disgruntled.

“Stop?” Jon repeated, pulling back.

“Yes, you’re over warm,” She groaned, and she pushed his arm off her waist, “And I’m hot.”

“You’re warm?” Jon thought the air was rather chilled.

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” She grumbled.

Jon rolled on his back, away from her, and looked up at the ceiling… puzzled.

She shifted in the bed, and he looked over at her.

“I feel ill.”

Jon reached out to touch but she shifted away, and so he withdrew his hand, “I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s not your fault,” She said it in such a way that made him feel like it actually might have been his fault. He frowned.

“We don’t have to go…”

“Jon, we’ve already discussed this…”

“Alright, alright,” Jon conceded not sure what had set her into such a foul mood, “Why are you upset with me?”

“I’m not upset with you,” She snapped.

“Fine,” irritated, Jon got out of the bed and threw on his shirt, “I will leave you to rouse yourself, and I’ll help Tormund with the horses.”

She nodded, just before retching into the chamber pot. Jon frowned, but made no comment, as his commentary was obviously not welcome this morning.

* * *

Jon was putting on his gloves when Cook brought him a large basket and a rather frightful scowl.

“Tisn’t fittin for you to be dragging the Lady all about the country in her condition,” Cook said sharply as she set the basket beside him.

“It’s just to Edinburgh,” Jon said, though he himself had doubts about taking Sansa on such a long journey when the pregnancy had made her so ill.

Cook rolled her eyes at him, “I packed all sort of vittles for ye, and some of her favorites,” Cook said, “She’s bound to be hungry, women with child always are, be sure you make her eat.”

“I will Cook,” Jon smiled indulgently. He picked up the basket and started for the door, but Cook was still on his heels.

“And make sure she doesn’t get too jostled in the carriage,” Cook continued, “wouldn’t be good for mother nor bairn.”

“I will Cook,” Jon said with an amused sigh as he placed the basket in the carriage.

“And mind that she stays warm,” Cook followed him back inside the house, “We would not want her to catch a chill, the air is getting much cooler, and what from growing up in the South, she isn’t used to these Scottish chills.”

Jon turned to Cook and put a kind hand on her shoulder, “I’ll not let any harm come to her, I’ll keep her warm, fed and unperturbed.”

“I trust ye with her,” Cook huffed, “I’m just reminding ye is all. You don’t know a thing about taking care of a woman with child.”

Jon chuckled, “I know, but I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“See that you do,” Cook crossed her arms over her chest.

“Aye,” And just as he responded, Sansa came down the stairs.

After their confrontation this morning, she did not look any more friendly as she walked down the stairs, in fact she looked rather green and decidedly aggressive.

“Tormund and I have the luggage loaded,” Jon said carefully.

“Thank you,” Sansa said simply.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked warily as he followed her out to the waiting carriage.

“As I stated this morning, I am fine,” She replied rather coolly.

Jon did not know what he did between last night and this morning, but his wife was not the warm woman he had in bed with him last night. He climbed into the carriage and kept his mouth shut. He looked out the window of the carriage to see Cook standing on the steps with her hands on her hips and shaking her head. Jon was inclined to agree with her.

* * *

“Jon,” Sansa’s voice began to rouse him from sleep. She was shaking his arm rather vigorously. Jon’s eyes fluttered open and he was reminded where they were by the bump and crunch of the carriage wheels beneath them. Jon was not overly fond of carriages, he preferred riding, but he would not leave his precious wife to make the trip to Edinburgh in the carriage alone.

“What is it?” Jon asked groggily.

“I need to… um… relieve myself,” She said in a shaky voice, and when Jon’s eyes focused on her, he could see her face had gone white as a sheet. Jon knocked on the carriage wall, signaling for Tormund to stop, and Sansa nearly leapt from the carriage as soon as they stumbled to a halt. He got out of the carriage and stood beside her rubbing her back, as she retched up their light breakfast.

“Please stop touching me!” She said harshly when the worst had passed.

Jon withdrew his hand. This was a bad idea, he chastised himself, he should have known better than to take his pregnant wife away from the comforts of home when she had been so ill. She had insisted, though, and he had acquiesced.

“We’re almost to the inn, leannan,” Jon tried to reassure her, but felt terribly guilty. He was supposed to be taking care of her… not dragging her half-way across the country in such a delicate state.

“Stop,” Sansa said as she wiped at her mouth with a handkerchief.

“Stop?”

“Stop berating yourself,” Sansa snapped, “I said I was fine to come and I meant it.”

“I’m just concerned about you and the baby is all,” Jon replied, feeling that her irritation was somewhat unjustified.

She glared at him and marched back to the carriage, “There’s months left of this, Jon, months! You cannot treat me like a fragile flower the whole time!”

Jon stalked after her. They got back in the carriage and glared at each other.

“I feel like this trip was a bad idea in your condition,” Jon said.

“My condition?” Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, “Women have babies all the time, Jon Snow, it does not make me incapable of traveling to Edinburgh with you!”

“But…”

“But nothing…” Sansa said with all the nobility of her station, “If you truly did not want to see your family, you could have simply said so.”

“It’s not that,” Jon said, though he was not sure that was entirely true, “I’m concerned for you.”

“Well, stop,” Sansa huffed, “You are making me feel like a child.”

Jon nearly rolled his eyes but refrained. This whole venture had been at her insistence, but she had been rather ill tempered since they set out this morning. Sansa had a temper, that he knew, but it was unlike her to be irritable and snappish. It seemed his very existence annoyed her today.

She looked out one window and he looked out the other. Last night, she had wanted to be held and cuddled and then this morning she had recoiled from any tender touches. He could not understand the change in her.

He looked over at her, and now she looked like she was about to cry. Sighing, Jon resigned himself to silence, unsure how to help her when it seemed she did not want to be near him. He was at a loss.

* * *

True to his word, they arrived at the inn not long after nightfall, and Jon secured them rooms, before going to retrieve Sansa from the carriage. She looked like a regal princess when she stepped out, and none would be the wiser that they had been at odds for most of the day and she ascended the stairs to their rooms while Jon went to ensure Tormund had everything he needed for the night. Tormund was tending the horses, and Jon sighed as he entered the stables.

“Troubles with your lady?” Tormund chuckled.

“I cannot say that I rightly know,” Jon came to the side of one of the horses and gave it a firm pat.

“Me late wife was a surly thing when she was with child,” Tormund bellowed, “All snaps and snarls.”

Jon sighed, as he often did.

“Don’t worry though, lad, she’ll want ye again, just ye wait till that bairn gets a little bigger,” Tormund laughed like he knew some secret that Jon did not. Perhaps he did?

“Have you considered marrying again?” Jon asked, changing the subject, not wanting to discuss his wife’s foul mood no matter how friendly he was with Tormund.

“Ack, no,” Tormund said, “Not unless the Cook will have me!”

Jon laughed, “Cook is a formidable woman.”

“They’re the best kind,” Tormund said with a great guffaw.

Smiling, Jon thought of Sansa, “Aye, they are.”

Jon finished helping Tormund before ascending the stairs to his and Sansa’s room. She was curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed, sound asleep. Trying not to wake her, and he crawled into bed as best he could, though he did not quite fit as well as he would like with the strange position Sansa was laying in. He touched her bottom, hoping to nudge her over enough to slide into the bed. She mumbled in her sleep. He heard sniffles coming from her like she was crying.

“Sansa?”

She shifted but did not say anything.

He touched her shoulder, and thought he heard tears, “Sansa?” he repeated.

“We should have brought the dogs!” She suddenly said quite vehemently.

“I don’t think there would have been room in this bed,” Jon grumbled, as he was still hanging half off the side.

“Lady is just a baby,” Sansa whimpered.

“Lady is half as big as a hound and too smart for her own good,” Jon said, nudging Sansa’s bottom again trying to get her to scoot over without setting her off.

“Stop poking me,” She snapped.

Jon sighed in mild annoyance and tried not to laugh, “I’m sorry, but there is not much room on this side.”

She looked over her shoulder, and then moved, “Well, you could have said so!”

“I’ve been a little to afraid to speak today,” Jon retorted.

Sighing, she did not deign him a response, only huffed and gave him the space he required.

“Goodnight Leannan.”

“Goodnight.”

Jon was left to his confusion as he lay there and continued to listen to her sniffling, obviously trying to hide tears. He did not know what to do and so he lay there, baffled, until he fell asleep.

* * *

Dragonstone… Jon looked up at the great stone structure and felt a sinking feel in his chest. It was where Jon had spent his early childhood with his father, Rhaegar, and his brother, Aegon. When their father had died Jon had been to various relatives until he landed permanently with his Uncle Viserys, who had also become the permanent guardian of Daenerys upon Rhaegar’s death. Daenerys and Jon were of an age, though she was his aunt, and were inclined to get along when they were children. Her betrayal of his affair with Ygritte had wounded him almost as much as Aegon’s. Aegon and Daenerys for all their faults had been the only sources of kindness in his youth, and he had felt a keen sense of betrayal when they had revealed his courtship of Ygritte to Viserys. Viserys had always been cruel and unpredictable, and Jon thought it miraculous that Dany had survived as long as she had under his tyrannical guardianship.

Sansa looked at him and took his hand. She had been much warmer to him this morning when she woke then she had the day before, Jon smiled at her.

“There are so few fond memories here,” Jon said softly, “And even fewer in the home of my Uncle.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said, “I should not have pushed you to come. I do understand… I would not have wanted to visit my Aunt Lysa, no matter the circumstances, and a part of me is even glad that she is dead and gone… I suppose that makes me rather wicked.”

Jon squeezed her hand, “We can only be human.”

She nodded and looked out the window again the massive stone structure, obviously having been built as a medieval fortress.

“Our home will be happy,” Sansa said resolutely, as one of her hands drifted protectively over her little bump, that could not yet be seen through her gown.

“Aye,” Jon smiled, “Happy… full of baby laughs, and happy memories.”

She grinned at him and looked back out the window. He wondered what is was she was thinking.

Aegon had not yet arrived home, when the housekeeper ushered them in and showed them to their chamber. Aegon and his fiancée would arrive home tomorrow, in time for the christening. Aegon had assured him in his letter that he and Sansa were to make themselves at home and to stay as long as they wished. While Jon still harbored quite a bit of anger toward Aegon for the way he had treated Mya Stone, Jon knew his brother was making an effort toward reconciliation.

“Dany said the Martell’s are coming to the christening as well, since they are old family friends,” Jon said to Sansa as they settled into the guest chamber that used to be Jon’s bedroom.

“I hope Aegon does not come to regret his choice of Lady Margaery over Arianne,” Sansa said simply.

Jon knew with Aegon, Margaery and Arianne all under one roof they were in for a strange and uncomfortable weekend.

“I imagine Arianne, if she is the girl I remember, will make him regret her,” Jon sighed.

Sansa sat down on the bed and looked around the room, “This place is truly formidable.”

Winterfell was just as large and imposing, but Jon thought it to be much more warm and inviting than Dragonstone… though perhaps Jon was simply partial to his home. Dragonstone had never felt like a home even when it had been.

“It’s certainly not welcoming,” Jon agreed sitting down beside her on the large four poster bed.

“It’s a cold place to grow up,” Sansa gave him a sympathetic smile that warmed his heart.

“Aye,” Jon agreed.

“Had your mother lived, perhaps it would have been warmer?”

“Maybe,” Jon sighed, “I know so little of her.”

A relative had once told him that Lyanna had been beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.

“She died giving birth to me,” Jon said, “People whispered that she had been too young to carry a child, and Lord Rhaegar should have considered that before he bedded her.”

Sansa studied his face and listened.

“It is also fairly common knowledge around Dragonstone that my father had bedded my mother before they were wed,” Jon said it like a confession, “There was always some discrepancy over the timing of my birth, and the secrecy involved, and the fact that my mother’s relations cut ties with us… as if… as if…” Jon stuttered, “As if I was some stain upon their family’s honor.”

It was through Lyanna, though, that Jon was related to Ned Stark and thus came to inherit Winterfell. His mother, therefore, had given him life twice over in exchange for her own.

“I’m sorry you were never able to know her,” Sansa said sweetly as she took his hand and kissed the back of it.

“Sometimes I fear the only reason my father wed her was because he got her pregnant, though I’ve been assured that he did love her, in his way.”

“If she had lived, I wonder if you would have had more siblings?”

“Perhaps,” Jon replied, “I always wished for more siblings when I was a child. More than anything though I wished my mother was alive.”

Sansa looked at the ground, “It’s not uncommon… mother’s dying in birth.”

Jon wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. He knew she was afraid for both herself and the babe.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been so disagreeable,” She said after a pause, as she laid her head against his shoulder, “I woke so angry yesterday, and I don’t know why.”

Jon kissed her head again, “Tormund assures me that it is quite common for a woman with child to occasionally growl at her husband.”

Sansa snorted in amusement, “And what does he know of it?”

“More than I apparently.”

They laughed together and Jon was content.

Sansa snuggled closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Jon, I want more than one babe,” She started hesitantly.

Jon grinned wolfishly at her, wondering where this was going, “I’ll give you as many babes as you want, leannan.”

She blushed. He liked making her blush.

“But I don’t want to be pregnant for all my young years,” She added and he looked down at her, “But… but I don’t want to stop our… um…” Her brow furrowed, “Our intimacies.”

Jon suppressed a laugh. Even though she had told him that he pleased her, Jon was not always, in fact, sure that he did. She was not one to be vocal about her desires, needs, and pleasures. He was now happy to know that she was not ready to throw him and his own _needs_ from their bed.

“Randa said that precautions could be taken and that you would know,” Sansa said simply, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Jon ran a hand down his beard, “She did, did she?”

A faint glimmer of a grin passed across Sansa eyes, “She seemed to think men knew of such things.”

Jon figured a man like Aegon might.

“Randa said that since you had gotten me in this condition that I should ask you,” She said, that faint glimmer of a smile in her eyes once again.

It was Jon’s turn to blush as he cleared his throat. Sansa could be such an odd combination of shy and bold.

“I’m certainly no expert on the matter,” Jon said, “But there are… um… ways to please each other without… Um…” he continued to stammer, “What I mean to say is, that from my understanding, if I don’t… _finish_ … inside you, then it should not take.”

Sansa nodded thoughtfully, before laying down on the bed.

“I’m tired from our journey,” She said after a long silence.

“Of course,” Jon stood meaning to leave her in peace.

She yawned sleepily and closed her eyes, “So you can show me the ways sometime?”

Blushing, Jon thought of the day he tried to put his mouth on her, “Aye, leannan, I could show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Sansa meets the Targaryens and the Martells


	52. First Impressions (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a very small chapter sort of setting the stage for their visit to Dragonstone. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments!

Sansa descended the stairs of Dragonstone. Jon had already been gone from bed when she woke. This was the first morning in quite a few mornings that she had woken not feeling overwhelmingly ill and she was happy to eat breakfast. There were voices wafting up from the lower hallways. Sansa looked over the bannister, as she tried to catch a glimpse of what awaited her below. She could make out Aegon’s voice. The master had arrived it seemed. There were other voices… mostly female voices. Sansa wondered how it was that Aegon collected such a devoted following when he could be such an enormous arse. She reached the landing and peeked around the corner. The halls were empty and so Sansa followed the voices until she found the room from which the voices were emanating.

“Lady Sansa,” came one unfamiliar voice, and Sansa looked up to see Lady Margaery Tyrell coming toward her. They had only met briefly once at the Ball in the north, but she was smiling at Sansa as if they were old friends. Also, in the room stood whom Sansa assumed was the Martell’s, Aegon’s relations from Cornwall. One of them was a beautiful young woman with striking dark eyes, and long unbound black hair, Sansa thought perhaps that this woman, who was scowling at Margaery, could be none other than Arianne Martell.

Sansa curtsied to the group, feeling decidedly uncomfortable that Jon was nowhere to be seen.

“This is my brother’s lovely young bride, Sansa of Winterfell,” Aegon introduced pleasantly.

“And here I thought Jon had taken up the redcoat?” said a handsome but surly looking man who was older than the rest. He was preened and powdered and was looking Sansa up and down as if she were something to be devoured.

“My Uncle Oberyn Martell,” Aegon introduced, and Sansa nodded in acknowledgement.

“Jon has inherited the Winterfell estate up North,” explained Arianne, “I’m sure you remember Eg telling us.”

“So, the bastard has made something of himself?” said Oberyn sarcastically.

Sansa bristled, “Jon is a respectable man and Lord of Winterfell, sir,” She said defensively.

Oberyn chuckled, “How very fortunate for him.”

“Don’t mind Oberyn, my dear, he’s always a touch surly whenever he is rousted from Cornwall,” said Arianne as she looped her arm through Sansa’s.

“And where does your family hail from Lady Sansa?” asked Oberyn.

“Scotland, my lord,” said Sansa.

“You certainly do not sound Scottish,” Oberyn frowned, “Your speech is not laden with that grating brogue of which we tried so hard to rid Aegon of.”

“I grew up for most of my youth in England,” Sansa explained, trying not to take offense, “And returned to Scotland upon my marriage to Jon.”

“Lady Sansa is a Stark of Winterfell,” Aegon said cheerfully, seeming oblivious to the discomfort in the room. Sansa held her head high, though feeling a touch of embarrassment as all the strangers in the room digested this information and came to their inevitable conclusions. She and Jon had wed as a matter of protection and convenience for Sansa… they all knew it… and she could see them all making their measure of her. Their marriage to some may seem somewhat mercenary, Sansa had next to nothing to offer Jon when they married while Jon had offered her back everything that she had lost.

“Well you certainly were fortunate,” said Arianne with a friendly smile, “Jon is definitely the best of Dragonstone,” She gave Aegon a scathing look.

“I am certainly proud to have him,” Sansa said, and looked up to see Jon enter the room. He smiled at her, obviously having arrived in time to hear her praise.

“Jon!” Arianne greeted pleasantly and nearly threw herself into his embrace.

Jon gave her an almost brotherly embrace, “How are you Arianne?”

“Oh, I am quite well,” She said, with a coquettish toss of her dark hair, “I am looking to be engaged soon to Arys Oakheart, and we are very happy,” she shot another vicious look at Aegon. Jon had been right; she was determined to make Aegon regret her. Arianne slipped her arm through Jon’s in a gesture of familiarity that Sansa found irritating.

“We will be holding a ball here tomorrow night, in celebration of our own engagement,” said Aegon as he took Lady Margaery’s hand.

“And how very glad we all are for you and Lady Margaery, a more lovely couple could not be found in all of Britannia,” said Arianne, “Except perhaps for Sansa and Jon here.”

The room tittered in uncomfortable laughter.

“I am so happy to have the privilege of hosting you all,” said Lady Margaery with a scornful smile at Arianne, “You are my first guests and so I hope you will give me lost of advice as I am so soon to be Lady of Dragonstone.”

Jon and Sansa exchanged looks. This would be an interesting sojourn indeed.

* * *

After breakfast, Sansa and Jon ascended the stairs to their room to ready themselves for the christening. They had not much time. Sansa glanced out the window and saw a vast garden, and beyond it, a beach.

“Can you take me to see the ocean?” Sansa asked, feeling somewhat giddy at the sight.

Jon smiled at her and glanced out the window as well, “Aye, I’ll take you.”

She had seen the ocean only briefly, when she had said her final goodbyes to her father before he left for the continent. She wondered how it was that she had grown up on an island and yet the ocean had become so far detached from her being. The ocean, though, that she had seen when she said goodbye to her father was nothing like the blue waters that she could see stretching out along the beaches of Dragonstone, something about the water called to her… just like the heather in the Highlands.

“Do the common folk hereabouts fish instead of farm?” Sansa asked, curious about the economy that drove the region.

“Many fish or kelp,” Jon explained, “But there are a few farmers.”

“Sheep?”

“Some sheep,” Jon chuckled, “Not quite as many sheep as in the Highlands.”

“Do the villagers do well in fishing?” Sansa continued to question as they proceeded to their room to change for church.

“Depends on what the seasons bring,” Jon said simply, “In truth I don’t know much about the fishing industry of the locals here.”

“You’ve been more focused on our sheep,” Sansa teased.

“Aye, I like the sheep,” He wrapped his arm around her waist, “They’re docile creatures.”

“And you only like docile creatures?”

He laughed and kissed her.

Sansa sat down on their bed even though she knew she needed to change her clothes. She felt weary as she often did these days.

“Speaking of docile creatures,” Sansa began, “Arianne is taking Aegon’s engagement well.”

Jon laughed taking her sarcasm, “I told you, she’d make him regret it.”

Sansa chuckled, “He deserves what he gets I suppose.”

Jon changed out of his clothes as Sansa watched.

“Where’d you run off to this morning?” She asked.

“Out,” he said cryptically.

Sansa frowned, “Out?”

He nodded, but she did not push.

“Can I help you change?” Jon asked with a cheeky grin.

Sansa stood and retrieved the gown she had brought for the christening.

“I do believe, sir…” She giggled, “… that you are better at taking my clothes off then helping them on.”

Jon laughed and scratched his at beard, “I can behave myself, my lady.”

“Can you?” She teased, and came over to him, holding her gown against her.

“Aye.”

“I’m not sure you can,” Sansa prodded with a grin, “My wild highlander.”

His eyes were playfully but wide and feral, “I’m not wild…” he put his hands on her hips, “I’m just a simple shepherd.”

Sansa leaned in and kissed him, “Of course you are.”

He beamed at her, and put his hand on her belly, “I love you.”

Sansa kissed him again and covered his hand with her own.

“To church then?” He asked.

“Aye,” she replied.

* * *

There was nothing quaint about the church at which they arrived. The Dragonstone carriages drew the attention of many passing common folk. Dragonstone was the estate of standing in this region and the households of Daenerys and her husband, and the household of Viserys came in close second to Dragonstone. They arrived in time for the service to start and so Sansa would have the opportunity to meet Jon’s other relatives afterward. She watched though and observed the pretty young woman who resembled Aegon, hold the baby for the clergyman’s blessing.

“Dany and her husband had been trying for several years for a child,” Arianne whispered to Sansa, “Many of us were coming to fear that she was barren.”

Sansa wondered how common barrenness was. She studied Dany, even with the baby in her arms, Dany looked profoundly sad. Perhaps it was the surly looking husband at her side that made her sad?

“Jon and I did not know she was with child,” Sansa whispered back.

“She kept quiet about it for some time,” Arianne explained, “Though the Dragonstone family is rather good at keeping secrets,” she added, and eyed Jon strangely.

Sansa looked over at Jon and he smiled at her, obviously having not overheard Arianne’s whispers, before he turned his attention back to the service.

“Rhaegar thought he had kept the circumstances of Jon’s birth a secret,” Arianne continued, “But everyone knew he was illegitimate.”

Sansa frowned, wishing Arianne would cease her whispering while they were in church.

“Not that I care, it’s not Jon’s fault after all,” Arianne rambled, “But Oberyn knew that Rhaegar was carrying on with Jon’s mother before Elia died. If it had come out that he was illegitimate its very possible that he may have been disinherited, depending of course on how your father’s estate was entailed.”

“Now is neither the time nor the place to be discussing gossip, Lady Arianne,” Sansa said.

Arianne shrugged, and turned her attention back to the christening.

Sansa reached over and took Jon’s hand, though perhaps she should not have in church. She did not care about any vicious rumors, true or not. Jon was her husband, and she was proud to be his wife.

Nerves bit into Sansa’s stomach once the ceremony was over. Jon was rather rigid by her side, but they approached to pay their respects to the family and see the infant. She cared little if they liked her or not, but she did care about Jon, and how they might treat him. So many, for so long, had treated Jon like he was lesser somehow than Aegon simply due to the questionable circumstances surrounding his birth, and Sansa wished she could protect him from every slight and underhanded cruelties. She did not know what to expect from Dany and Viserys. By Jon’s own words, Viserys was cruel and unpredictable, but Dany, was not by nature a cruel person. Perhaps she was more like Aegon? They approached and bowed in the formal graces of their classes.

“Aunt Dany, may I present my wife, Lady Sansa of Winterfell,” Jon introduced them.

The large man at Dany’s side seemed wholly uninterested in the whole affair, but Dany and Sansa greeted one another cordially enough.

“Pleased to finally meet you,” said Dany with an almost annoyed look at Jon, “I thought Jon would keep you from us forever.”

“Well, I have had much settling in to do at Winterfell,” Sansa said graciously, attempting to take pressure off of Jon.

“In truth, I had begun to think I would never see my nephew again, as prone to brooding and hiding away in the North as he is,” Dany chuckled, but Sansa could feel the tension between the two of them.

“What a lovely child,” Sansa said, changing the subject, and drawing attention to the infant who had just been christened.

“She’s a strong healthy girl,” Dany beamed proudly, but her husband seemed annoyed.

“She is beautiful, Dany,” Jon said with a sweet smile.

“Aegon tells me the two of you are already expecting?” Dany asked straightforwardly.

Sansa looked at Jon before answering, “Yes, sometime this winter.”

“How very fortunate,” The words were said graciously but there was an undertone of ice in them, “The both of you will of course be joining us for lunch at our estate?”

Jon and Sansa exchanged looks again. In truth, Sansa wanted to go back to Dragonstone and explore the beaches, but they had come to spend time with Jon’s family, and they were not likely to spend much time in their presence in the future, and so she acquiesced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Lunch, a ball, and exploring the beaches


	53. The Bastard of Dragonstone (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I originally intended for this chapter to be longer, but then decided I wanted to split the events into different POVs, so I did not get quite as far along as I promised, but here is the next chapter, getting a little into Jon's head. I hope everyone enjoys!

Jon looked up at the glowering home of Daenerys and Drogo and sighed, deeply. He was happy for Dany that she had finally had a child after so long trying, but Jon did not like her husband nor his Uncle Viserys, who had yet to approach him and Sansa. There would be no avoiding each other here in this monstrous house. For the first time, Jon was happy they were staying at Dragonstone with Aegon.

“We need not stay overlong,” Sansa patted his hand as if sensing his anxiety, “If necessary, I can feign a faint, women with child are always said to be fainting.”

Jon chuckled, took her hand, and kissed it, “This does not promise to be pleasant.”

“We’ll face it together,” Sansa said.

Jon nodded and got out of the carriage and helped Sansa down. He had forgotten how ostentatiously wealthy Dany and Viserys both were. The Winterfell estate of course had made Jon just as wealthy, if not more so, but it was somehow different, it was a wealth born of honorable work, of farming and agriculture and industry. Winterfell was sturdy and dependable, and Jon was proud of it… and thankful for it. The wealth on display here at Dany’s home was loud and flaunting, as if it had something to prove to all those that entered. Perhaps it did…

Entering the dining room with Sansa on his arm, Jon surveyed the occupants, mainly family and close friends.

“Well, well,” said one particularly snide voice, and Jon groaned inwardly, as he turned to see his uncle.

“Uncle,” Jon greeted tersely, instinctively pulling Sansa a little closer against his side.

“I thought you had washed your hands of us when we shipped you off to the army,” said Viserys with a smirk.

“I’ve been kept quite busy,” Jon said, trying to keep the conversation short and polite.

“Obviously,” said Viserys as he looked Sansa up and down.

Jon pulled her just a little closer.

“You always did have a penchant for redheads,” Viserys said looking at them both with disdain in his eyes.

Jon bristled with anger.

“Daenerys tells me that congratulations are in order,” Viserys continued even as Jon tried to extricate them from the conversation.

“Aye,” Jon agreed, scanning the room looking for an out.

“And just when, my dear, may we expect a christening in the north?” Viserys asked, now addressing Sansa.

“Sometime in mid to late winter,” Sansa said gracefully, “I’m sure there will be heaps of snow across every road in the county, isn’t that right Jon?”

“Undoubtedly,” Jon agreed, though it was rare for them to see blizzards of that magnitude.

“I take it Winterfell suits you well then, dear nephew,” said Viserys with a sneer.

“Aye, quite well.”

“And who could have imagined it would have provided you with such a convenient bride.”

Jon saw Sansa’s face turn a slight shade of pink, but the brave girl squared her shoulders and gave Viserys an icey stare.

“Sansa and I are quite happy…” Jon said.

“Brother do come and keep Drogo company he’s dreadfully ill mannered at such events and needs to be kept entertained,” Dany suddenly swooped in to rescue him and Sansa from Viserys. She had done so often in his youth. She had averted many a confrontation between Viserys and Jon, but Jon now wondered how many blows she had taken in her efforts to protect him from Viserys… or at least to protect the tentative peace. Dany may be a small woman, but she was not one to be trifled with, which made Jon all the more taken aback at her choice of husband.

“She’s certainly a beautiful babe, Lady Daenerys,” interrupted an unfamiliar voice, as Viserys nearly growled as he went to speak with Drogo. The tension in the air was palpable.

Jon and Sansa both turned to see a man with brown hair and overconfident eyes approaching. The man bowed to Dany and kissed the back of her hand as if she were the queen.

“Daario, may I introduce my nephew, Jon,” Dany said pleasantly, “And his wife, Lady Sansa. This our neighbor’s heir, who comes and goes from time to time, he’s in the military.”

There was something about Daario, that Jon found distinctly untrustworthy.

They sat down to lunch and the occupants of the room spoke lightly of local news and news from England and Edinburgh.

“Lady Daenerys tells me that you occupy one of the last great estates in the Highlands,” Daario said to Jon.

Jon swallowed his food, “I would not say it was the last great estate, we have neighbors both in our community and in the region who do well enough.”

“Well, maybe not the last great estate,” said Arianne as if she knew anything of it, “But certainly the oldest, I heard that Winterfell has endured for hundreds of years before the uprising in 46?”

Jon looked at Sansa.

“Indeed,” Sansa concurred, “The laird at the time, my great-grandfather knelt to the British and saved his clan from being massacred. My father told me that my grandfather was quite furious, as he wanted to follow the Bonnie Prince to Culloden.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” said Daario, “But how is it that your great-grandfather was laird of Winterfell in 1746?”

Sansa’s face blanched. Everyone else in the room seemed to have an unspoken understanding of the circumstances of Jon and Sansa’s marriage and they had not had to explain themselves, but Daario was a stranger.

“Sansa is a Stark of Winterfell, her family has provided leadership to our community for generations, both officially as lairds of the clan, and even after the Rising when the British began suppressing the clans.”

“Ah,” Daario chuckled good naturedly, “I see, so you married up then?”

Jon looked at Sansa, and it broke his heart to see that she seemed even more embarrassed at Daario’s assumption that Jon had married Sansa for Winterfell. He smiled at her, “Aye, I did, sir.”

Viserys looked decidedly put out by this declaration.

“I think the other estate that dates nearly as old as Winterfell, is the Bolton’s,” Jon said, and looked to Sansa for confirmation, wanting to draw attention away from the personal and intimate details of their marriage.

“Aye, I believe so,” Sansa said softly.

“And I assume your revenues are generated by tenant farming?” Daario asked.

“Some tenant farming,” Jon said, “But we work our own land as well, we raise highland cattle, and harvest wheat and barley, but mostly we raise sheep, we breed them to sell the lambs, but we generate the majority of our revenues from wool exports.”

“And do you refine the wool on your estate, or do you export the wool raw?” Daario continued to question.

“Really Daario, this is hardly suitable conversation for mixed company,” Dany teased.

Jon chuckled, “We export raw.”

“But Jon wants to begin wool processing industry in the parish, as it would both increase our own revenue as well as provide jobs for families who have become otherwise unemployed,” Sansa said proudly.

Drogo laughed derisively, “Be wary of giving to much to the common folk, or you are likely to have an uprising on your hands, like in France, there have already been riots in Glasgow and Edinburgh demanding higher wages.”

“Well, he need not institute a massive mill,” Daario offered, “I’ve heard of wool being processed in the homes of tenants, so instead of tenant farming they process wool in their homes and it ships out at a higher price…”

Jon had not considered that as possibility, he wondered what the cost would be to institute such an enterprise.

“Enough talk of money and economy,” said Aegon, “You all are boring me to tears.”

Jon laughed, “Aye, aye, enough talk of business, we’re here to celebrate Daenerys, and Drogo, and their new baby, Rhaella.”

“Here, here,” Daario raised his glass, and the room followed suit. Jon noted how Drogo glowered at Daario and could not help but think it strange. He looked at Dany who looked sublimely happy for the first time in his recollection.

* * *

Jon and Sansa retired back to Dragonstone long before the lunch party was over. Neither wanted to linger longer than necessary. Sansa had used the excuse that she was over tired and needed rest.

“See, no one will argue with a mother with child,” Sansa giggled playfully as they walked into Dragonstone, “Now, will you take me to see the beaches?”

“Do you need rest?” Jon asked, wanting to be sensitive to her needs.

“No, Jon darling,” She kissed his cheek, “We have not much time here, I want to go and see what I can of this place.”

Jon smiled, he loved her curiosity and the engagement of her mind. So many women he knew of her social class were vapid shells living only to be filled by the opinions of their husbands. He was reminded of poor Jeyne Poole and wondered if she was faring well with the Tarths in England. The sad girl had not a single thought to call her own. Sansa was not like that… and he loved to see the turn of her mind and the inquisitive nature of her spirit. She was smart, and even smarter than she let on.

They changed from their church clothes and made their way out the back to the garden that led toward the beaches.

“What’s in there?” Sansa asked, pointing to another gate that led off the garden.

“The family cemetery,” Jon said tersely. This morning he had left Sansa to sleep and had made his way to the cemetery to see his mother’s grave. He had not told her. When he had been a little boy, Rhaegar had often scolded him for going to the graveyard to see his mother. Jon had found comfort in it, but Rhaegar had thought it strange and unsettling. Jon had never been able to tell Rhaegar that perhaps if he had provided fatherly comfort, then perhaps he would not have been seeking a mother’s comfort in a grave. As a boy, he had learned to hide his needs from Rhaegar, and to his shame, he had learned to hide his needs as a man as well. He looked at Sansa. He did not need to hide from her, they were a team, a family, and yet he still struggled sometimes to remember that she was not like his cruel and callous relations.

“Your mother is buried there?” Sansa asked softly.

“Aye,” Jon said in a strained voice.

Sansa took his hand, “You know the crypts at Winterfell house the bones of all my family…”

Jon looked at her to see profound sadness in her eyes.

“For all the months I have been home, I have not been able to bring myself to visit them,” She said.

She understood… of course she did….

“I went out and saw… her this morning,” Jon confessed, “I’m sorry I did not tell you.”

She squeezed his hand.

“When I was a boy Rhaegar used to scold me for going out to see her grave,” Jon said, “He always said there was no reason for me to miss her, since I did not know her. I got to where I would sneak out and tell no one, because I did miss her… it did not matter that I did not know her.”

Before he realized what she was doing, she had wrapped her arms around him, and just held him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and breathed in her flowery scent, nuzzling his nose against her neck.

“I wish I could make it all better for you,” She whispered in his ear.

Jon held her tighter. When Jon had first entertained the idea of marrying her, he had imagined himself as the one helping her, providing her means of escape from her captors and maybe if they were lucky, providing some small measure of happiness. Over the months since their marriage, however, he had found that she was healing him in ways that he had not even realized he was broken. He kissed her tenderly.

She smiled breathlessly as they broke for air, “Come, I want to see the beaches…”

Jon pulled her close again, “Are you sure you would not rather return to our rooms?”

She giggled, “Later, my darling.”

Jon touched her cheek, “Aye, later.”

* * *

Jon smiled as he watched Sansa breathe deeply of the cool, sea air as they emerged from some tall grass onto the beach nearest Dragonstone. She was so lovely, and right now she looked so young and carefree, as she should be.

“Would it be scandalous of me to remove my shoes so that I can feel the sand and the waves?” She asked with a grin.

“Tis only you and me here, leannan, and I’ve certainly seen you in far less,” Jon teased.

She blushed prettily and bent to remove her shoes. Jon followed her lead and removed his own.

“There used to be caves down here,” Jon said, “Aegon and I used to explore them.”

“We should find them,” Sansa smiled and took his hand.

They walked along the beach, close enough to the water for the waves to nip at the feet.

“The water is cold,” Sansa laughed.

“Too cold?” he asked in concern.

She turned tender eyes to him, “No, I’m not too cold.”

He nodded.

“The babe is not going to catch a chill,” She said with giggle, though there was a deep concern in her eyes.

“What is, leannan?” He asked.

“I am often reminded of how little I know of being with child, or being a mother,” Sansa confessed, as they continued to walk down the beach, “You did not know your mother, and though I knew mine and remember her well, we did not have those talks about marriage, and babies, and birth, and after that I imagine most good mothers have with their daughters when they come of age. My mother was gone long before I needed to know such things.”

Jon thought Sansa to be a natural mother, but he did not interject, recognizing that she needed him to listen.

“I feel… I feel ill equipped,” Sansa said.

“We will do the best that we can with what we have,” Jon said, “Its all we can do.”

“I miss her,” Sansa said, “My mother.”

“I wish I could have known your mother,” Jon said with a smile, “From all accounts I’ve heard of her, she was a force to be reckoned with.”

Sansa chuckled, “Maybe, I just remember her as mother, kind and patient…”

Jon had never known a mothering influence in his entire life, him missing his mother was a different type of missing.

They were quiet for a bit as they continued to walk. Sansa was smiling as she paused for a moment and squished her toes into the wet sand.

“So, will you dance with me at the ball tomorrow?” She asked with a teasing glint in her eyes.

“Aye, if you wish it,” Jon said with a chuckle.

“I do,” she said firmly, as she took a few steps deeper into the water, until it lapped at her ankles and drenched the hem of her dress.

“Very well, then,” Jon said, as he followed her.

Sansa began to unpin her hair so that it would fall loose around her shoulders and down her back. Jon gulped. Did she know what that sight did to him? She turned guileless eyes to him, perhaps she did not?

“What are you staring at?” She asked.

“You,” He said honestly.

She rolled her eyes playfully, “There are much grander things to be staring at here.”

Jon snorted, “They pale in comparison.”

“Look at the ocean!” She admonished with a teasing grin.

“You are as beautiful as the ocean,” Jon said, and cursed at the failure of his wretched tongue, “You’re like the oceans and the highlands and the heather.”

“All of them?” Sansa giggled.

“Aye, all of them,” Jon said, feeling like he was rambling, “You’re like Scotland.”

She laughed then, “So I am a country now?”

He ran a hand through his hair, “I’m not a poet, but you are all that is good and right in the world.”

She smiled almost shyly at his praise.

He came closer and put his hands on her hips, the roar of the ocean surrounding them as he leaned closer and her breathing hitched, “But you are also a woman, soft and warm and sweet, and I have half a mind to throw you over my shoulder, and take you back to bed, so I can get between these legs where I belong.”

Sansa laughed and kicked up some water to splash him, “What a thing to say! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a barbarian!”

“Perhaps I am,” Jon whispered, tugging her closer. His heart swelled with pleasure every time he looked at her these days, he knew he was absolutely besotted with his wife. At first, it was the love of a new husband, freshly married, and warmth that blossomed in response to her nurturing heart. He loved seeing the changes to her body as she carried his child, somehow it made her even more beautiful, which he did not think was possible. Each day, though, his love grew deeper, and he wondered if it were possible to love her more… and each day, he did.

Jon kissed her forehead, “I’m looking forward to seeing you be a mother to our children, because I have no doubt that you will be an excellent mother.”

“Thank you,” She said with a satisfied smirk.

Jon, though, was no longer teasing. He looked at her, “You are everything I have ever wanted.”

She looked down at the water, always shy when he spoke so openly of his feelings. He knew she had trouble confessing her own, but in the depths of his heart, he wanted to believe she loved him too.

“I’ve never been this happy in all my life,” He continued, pressing kisses to her cheeks and jawline, “I have loved seeing you become the lady of Winterfell, strong and fierce, and I have loved seeing you reclaim your Scottish heritage…”

She looked like she might cry.

“And I love our time abed,” he said which made her giggle, “And I love that we made a baby together, and I get a rather feral sort of pride when I see that little bump, knowing that you are carrying my child.”

She laughed then, “I think you are a barbarian.”

He grinned and kissed her mouth, “Your wild highlander?” He repeated her words from this morning.

“Aye, my wild highlander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: continuation... (Sansa POV)


	54. Genuine Kisses (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit, it picks up immediately where the last chapter left off! I am nervous about how this chapter turned out, I hope it is not disappointing!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for your lovely comments!

Sansa took Jon’s hand and toyed with his fingers as he looked at her. His eyes held so much love for her, that it threatened to break her. _Love is patient, love is kind_ … Sansa wished she could remember the rest of the words that her mother used to read to her. Jon was patient and Jon was kind… and she thought perhaps that Jon loved her more than anyone else ever had. Sansa laced their fingers together.

“So… my wild highlander, just what are you going to do with me then?” She asked.

Jon touched her cheek gently and she leaned into his hand. She was embarrassed to admit how much she craved his tender touches, soaking them up like a flower in need of water.

Jon chuckled, “I suppose I’ll have to steal you away to the highlands and keep you for myself.”

Sansa smiled and leaned into his hand. He made her so soft.

He threaded his fingers into her unbound hair, “I love your hair…”

She thought her hair must look affright at the moment. The pins had been poking her scalp and she had needed to free it. There was a hum of need buzzing in the air between them. Not always sure how to respond to that need, Sansa wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle as he kissed the top of her head.

“Let’s find the caves,” Jon said tenderly, his voice deep and gruff like it often was in the throes of passion in their bedroom.

Sansa nodded and threaded their fingers together once again.

They continued down the beach. While Dragonstone was certainly not the Highlands and the heather, Sansa thought she could come to love the ocean as much, to smell the salty sea breezes and hear the gulls over the bay. When they stumbled upon the mouth of the cave, they paused to put their shoes back on.

“I did not think to bring a lantern, and I have not got any flint to strike a flame,” Jon said.

Sansa examined the mouth of the cave, “You and Aegon used to play down here?”

“Aye, I got lost in there once…” Jon said, “Most terrifying day of my young life. Aegon found me, though, and we discovered cave drawings deep inside, likely made by the Picts, which is highly uncommon this far south.”

They entered the cave, and Sansa ran her hand along the walls, making out the different textures of stone and rock. She had been so cloistered in London and with her Aunt Lysa that there were times that she felt like a she was experiencing the world for the very first time. Often since getting with child, Sansa had been prone to tears and she felt them spring to her eyes now.

“The Picts were a people of the North,” Sansa said, wiping at her eyes, “What were they doing so far south?”

“Whose to say?” Jon said, as he came up beside her covering her hand with his own, “So little is known of them, save that they were here, some scholars even doubt their existence, but the people know…”

Sansa sniffed.

“What’s wrong, Leannan?” He squeezed her hand and turned her by the shoulders to face him.

She looked up at him, “I feel like a child sometimes,” she confessed, “So cloistered and kept ignorant I was when I lived in England, sometimes I feel like I’m touching the world for the very first time and sometimes I’m overwhelmed by it’s beauty and it’s unrefined edges and the way that it calls out to be touched and experienced.”

Suddenly, Jon tugged her toward him and crashed his lips into hers. The kiss was passionate and messy, as he tangled his hands into her hair and yet it was full of deep understanding as if her words had called to something deep in his own soul, that he shared with no one. The kiss left her breathless and her knees a bit wobbly when they finally broke for air. He kissed her nose, and her eyelids, and her cheeks, before placing another more gentle peck to her lips.

“You’re touching it now,” He whispered, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as he cupped her face in his hands, “All my life I felt like a captive…” He admitted, “Even in the military, and when I got wounded and discharged, I thought my life was over, but in truth it had only just begun…”

Sansa looked at him.

“And I’ve spent the years since discovering the world…” Jon said, “Learning how to live in it on my own terms…”

She placed a hand over his heart and could feel the raised edges of the scar over his heart.

“To be free…” He said, and touched her cheek again, “I want that for you too.”

“Jon,” Sansa leaned her head forward and rested her forehead against his chest. His hand slipped to caress the back of her neck, “You are the only one who has given me freedom…”

He continued to rub the back of her neck, “So you… you…” he sounded so hesitant, “So you don’t regret it? Don’t regret me?”

She looked up at him, “No, I have no regrets,” she said, “I know this place, and your relations make you feel like you are lesser, but Jon, you are not lesser, you are not the bastard of Dragonstone, you are the Lord of Winterfell, and even more importantly, you are a good man and an honorable man, a man worthy…” _and I think I may be in love with you,_ she nearly added but fear caught the words in her throat, and so she kissed him, until she hoped that she made his knees wobbly.

* * *

Sansa held Dany’s baby as Dany and Margaery discussed the final preparations for the ball this evening. Arianne had disappeared once the men had left and had not been seen since. Rhaella was a sweet baby, she had bright eyes just like Dany’s and her hair was fair promising to look like her mother in every way. She was so small… Sansa smiled as Rhaella stared up at her and chewed on her little fist.

“You certainly are a natural mother, Lady Sansa,” said Margaery with a grin.

“Tis easy with one so sweet,” Sansa replied.

Dany looked at Sansa and Rhaella with a wistful smile.

“All babies are sweet,” Margaery giggled, “Though too many may sour them.” 

Sansa chuckled.

“When is your little one expected?” Dany asked.

“Sometime in the winter,” Sansa said.

Margaery laughed, “You and Lord Jon wasted little time.”

“Well, with marriage comes babes, it seems,” Sansa said lightly, but regretted her choice of words immediately when Dany’s face fell briefly.

“You should certainly pray for a boy, since Winterfell is so cruelly entailed,” Dany said shortly.

Sansa swallowed hard. She knew very well, that if she did not produce a boy, and if something happened to Jon, she would once again be cruelly stripped from her home.

“At least Rhaella will have no worries on that account,” Dany said, “Drogo’s estate is not entailed in such a way, and I have my own inheritance from my mother and father.”

“She is fortunate indeed, then,” Sansa said more to Rhaella than Dany, as she tried not to take Dany’s words as a slight.

“It’s a dangerous world for a woman,” said Margaery, “And so I am happy to be so happily engaged myself.”

“You are both fortunate women,” Dany said with a laugh, “Both my nephews are good lads. Though I expect Aegon especially will need some management.”

Margaery laughed, “Have no fear on that account, I have him well in hand.”

Sansa kept her attention on the baby in her arms, not wishing to engage in such talk or their husbands.

Margaery dismissed herself for a moment to go and speak with the kitchen staff, and Dany came to sit beside Sansa when Rhaella began to fuss.

“She’s likely ready to feed,” said Dany with a sigh, as she took Rhaella from Sansa’s arms and covered her with a blanket so that the baby could suckle, “Some aspects of being a mother are wearisome.”

Sansa frowned sadly. She was looking forward to feeding her baby, though she had heard many women of their station employed wet nurses. She was surprised that Dany did not have a wet nurse if she found having the baby at her breast wearisome.

“Drogo would not hear of hiring a wet nurse,” Dany said as if she could read Sansa’s mind, “My husband can be rather demanding and so I give in when it is no cost to me, to give him that illusion of being in charge.”

Sansa could only frown again.

Dany laughed, “You look so solemn, do you really expect me to believe that you do not issue the orders to my puppy of a nephew?”

“Indeed, I do not,” Sansa said firmly, “Jon and I are equals, we are not perfect of course, but we try to be good partners to one another.”

Dany sniffed as if she did not quite believe her, “I love Jon, I always have, despite that he might believe otherwise,” Dany said, “But he has a kind and gentle heart, and doesn’t always know what is good for him.”

“And you do?” Sansa snapped coolly, trying not to lose her temper.

Dany gave her a placating smile that rankled Sansa, “Men need to be told what to do, otherwise they’d go about getting bastards on every kitchen maid and ruining family fortunes in perpetuity.”

“You seem to have a rather low opinion of men,” Sansa said.

“I was raised by Viserys,” Dany said flatly, “Need I say more?”

“And what of your husband?”

Dany looked down at Rhaella, “What of him?” she asked casually.

“Do you not love him?”

Dany looked at her then, “Do you love Jon?”

Sansa squared her shoulders, “Jon is good to me, he’s easy to love.”

Dany chuckled as if she were indulging a naïve child, “How sweet.”

Tension in the room thickened and so Sansa decided to change topic, “Rhaella is a beautiful baby, she looks so much like you.”

Dany smiled kindly and for the first time looked genuine, “She’s a darling gift.”

“I apologize if my words earlier were callous,” Sansa said.

Dany nodded in acknowledgement, “As a girl no one imagines the challenges faced as a wife, we are swept away in romance and the ideal of motherhood, and no one expects that becoming with child will be a difficult thing.”

Sansa did not interrupt.

“And of course, they always blame the woman when an heir cannot be conceived,” Dany said with a sting of bitterness, “No one ever suspects that it may be the fault of the man.”

The bitterness in Dany’s tone ate at Sansa. Was this what marriage devolved into? She wondered if Dany had ever loved Drogo, or if it had been a marriage meant to escape her own captor… Viserys… an escape that went desperately wrong.

“Happiness in marriage is a rare and fragile thing,” said Dany, “Cherish it while you are able.”

Sansa nodded, feeling Dany’s sad words sit like a brick in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

The ball was ostentatious, like everything here. Margaery Tyrell’s money would certainly be the saving of Dragonstone, Sansa thought sadly as she stuck close to Jon’s side as they navigated the ballroom full of mostly unfamiliar faces. Margaery certainly had refined and expensive tastes.

“I miss Winterfell,” Sansa whispered to Jon, who chuckled.

“It’s only been three days,” He said with a grin.

“Everything at home is just so much more real,” Sansa said as she surveyed the decked-out ballroom of Dragonstone filled with very important looking people.

“Aye,” Jon agreed. He looked her up and down, “I think we need to get you some new dresses since we are so close to Edinburgh.”

Sansa flushed, irritably, “Whatever for?”

He cleared his throat, looking somewhat chagrinned at his words, “Well, um…”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him.

He leaned in closer to her, “Your figure is becoming… well, fuller…”

Sansa glared at him, “Are you saying that my dress does not fit?”

Jon chuckled nervously, “It seems a little… snug…”

“Snug?” Sansa had to remember to keep her voice low.

“Particularly around… well, around your bosom,” Jon said, and his cheeks turned a slight pink.

“And you choose right now to tell me?” Sansa snapped, feeling self-conscious as she wondered who else had noticed her poorly fitted gown. 

“You look lovely, Sansa,” Jon amended, “Your other dresses were fine, it is just this one it seems…. More pronounced,” He smiled a roguish smile.

Sansa smacked his arm and unfolded her fan to hide her _pronounced_ bosom.

“Well, you shouldn’t be ogling me,” She scolded playfully.

“Why ever not?” He asked with a smirk, “Its one of the grander sights here.”

Sansa shook her head in mock exasperation.

“I fully intend to pursue a more intimate study of it later this evening, if you will allow me, my lady?” Jon asked with that dark playful look in his eye.

“You’re incorrigible,” Sansa huffed, though secretly she was coming to love when he grew playful. She had not known love could be playful.

“Is that a no?” Jon asked, a teasing lilt still in his voice.

“It depends…” Sansa said with a smirk.

“Depends?”

“Lady Sansa!” Daario’s voice interrupted their game, and both she and Jon gave each other a sort of sympathetic smile. In truth, Sansa would have preferred to go back to their rooms and allow Jon to pursue this more intimate study rather than staying here and being forced to speak with strangers, but alas, decorum dictating that they stay at least until toasts were made in the happy couple’s honor.

“Good evening, Lord Daario,” Sansa greeted, and Jon put his hand possessively on her lower back, “I hope you are having a pleasant time.”

“Indeed, I have not been to a ball this splendid in quite some time,” said Daario, “I was wondering if I might have the pleasure of the next dance with you.”

She looked at Jon, truly wishing to dance with him, but he seemed in no hurry to dance.

“Very well,” Sansa said, “But the one after I must reserve for my husband.”

Jon smiled at her but said nothing as Daario led her toward the dance floor.

The dance was somewhat slower, allowing room for conversation and though she would have much preferred to stay by Jon’s side, dancing or not, Daario was charming and interesting enough for the dance to not be a total bore.

“Aunt Dany stated that you are set to inherit her neighbor’s estate?” Sansa asked, setting a simple tone to their conversation.

“Aye, my Aunt lives there, and I am her heir apparent, as she has no children of her own,” Daario replied, “I’ve known Daenerys for some years, and we are good friends.”

“Do you and her husband Drogo do any business together?” Sansa asked.

“Oh, no,” Daario stated, “Drogo’s wealth comes from tenants and investments, rather than business, and I am afraid my estate will be much the same, unlike your industrious husband we are little more than landlords. Besides, Drogo cares little for my company,” He snorted derisively.

Sansa glanced to where Drogo was glowering unhappily in a corner.

“I’m not sure he cares much for anyone’s company,” Sansa said, but was distracted from Drogo when they spun again and she caught sight of Arianne standing beside Jon, tugging at him, attempting to draw him to the dance floor. Anger shot through her, what did Arianne Martell think to accomplish by putting her hands on her husband?

“Drogo is a brute,” Daario said with a surprising amount of spite.

“I do not know much of him,” Sansa said, trying to ignore the fact that she could see Arianne and Jon join them on the dance floor, “They have been married for some time, yes?”

“Plenty long,” said Daario.

“Why did she wed him?” Sansa asked curiously.

“To escape the other brute,” Daario motioned to where Viserys was obviously scolding a serving maid.

Sansa thought Dany’s life to be rather sad, one of ostentatious wealth but devoid of heart. She could see Dany wilting like a flower deprived of sun. Perhaps that is what the deprivation of love did? She had felt much the same before she came to be with Jon.

“You are fond of her?” Sansa asked.

“Aye,” Daario said, “Who wouldn’t be?”

Sansa considered the complex natures of human beings, how they were layered and multifaceted, and could not be understood through the lens of one perspective.

“She lives a rather lonely life, I’m afraid,” Daario continued, and his eyes were drawn across the ballroom. Sansa looked and saw that Daenerys had arrived, and she looked elegant as ever. Sansa studied Daario’s face, and the affection she saw in his eyes did not bode well for any of them. She imagined Daario was a scandal waiting to happen. 

The dance ended and she and Daario excused themselves from each other. Sansa scanned the room for Jon and when she found him it rankled her to see that Arianne was at his side, laughing at something he had said. Further, she could see Aegon glaring at them from across the room. Arianne was unpardonable. Sansa was about to march herself across the room to Jon when Lady Margaery appeared at her side and looped her arm through Sansa’s.

“So, tell me, how did everything come off?” Margaery asked as she surveyed the room.

“Everything is lovely Lady Margaery,” said Sansa, still eyeing Jon and Arianne.

“Oh, please call me Margaery,” said she, “We’re to be sisters, you and I, and we should not be so formal.”

Sansa nodded. Sisters… she thought of little Arya… and wondered what her little sister would have been like now had she survived the fever.

“I have not got any sisters, and so I hope we shall be good friends,” Margaery said and Sansa could see that Margaery too was watching the scene unfold between Aegon, Arianne and Jon. Aegon and Arianne continued to shoot looks at each other from across the room, while Arianne clung to Jon, who looked decidedly annoyed by her attentions.

“I do believe that trollop is being rather forward with your husband,” Margaery said with a sniff.

Sansa glanced over at Aegon and wondered if Margaery knew that Arianne was making a display of herself to gain Aegon’s attention.

“I would concern yourself with your fiancé, Margaery,” Sansa said irritably, suddenly have a keen longing for home and the straightforwardness of the people there. Their village folk may be poor and simple, but they were straightforward and honest, people worthy of respect. They did not play these games that the rich played with each other.

Margaery narrowed her eyes at Aegon, and Sansa realized that Margaery knew well the situation between Aegon and Arianne… but perhaps, what Margaery said to Dany was true. Perhaps she did have Aegon well managed… for no matter Arianne’s attempts to gain his attentions, Aegon never approached her… Glancing around the room Sansa saw Dany and Daario in what looked to be a rather intimate conversation. She wondered how it was that anyone’s reputation in this family was not tattered beyond repair.

* * *

Well before the evening was over, Sansa made her escape. She was tired and felt she had stayed long enough that leaving would not be rude. Jon seemed to catch sight of her retreat and followed her. 

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” He asked taking her hand.

“I think I would have liked to dance more with you,” said Sansa. They had only danced one dance together before being continually pulled away from each other by other guests.

“I am not an able dancer as you well know,” Jon said with a self-deprecating smile, as they approached the door to their rooms.

“Arianne seemed to enjoy herself well enough,” Sansa retorted, not sure where the words came from.

“Arianne is incorrigible, just like Aegon, its no wonder they have always been besotted with each other,” He said irritably. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa replied as she shut the door behind them and began to unpin her hair, “With the way she plastered herself to your side all evening one would think she was besotted with you.”

“She is trying to get back at Aegon.”

“Do you think yourself so undesirable?” Sansa snapped, and started to turn her back to him.

Jon froze and caught her arm before she could turn away from him. She looked at him, and suddenly felt petty when she saw the irritated look on his face… but then his face broke into an amused smirk, almost smug, as he studied her. Sansa dropped her eyes, but he ducked his head to maintain eye contact with her.

“Why, Lady Sansa, are you jealous?” He asked with that irritating smirk still on his face.

Masking her emotions, Sansa looked at him and rolled her eyes, “Don’t be so utterly ridiculous, whatever would I have to be jealous about?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Jon looked like he was trying not to laugh which only served to annoy her further.

She turned away and started to unbutton her overly snug gown but struggled with the buttons. Jon reached for them, but she pulled away, only to continue to struggle with them. Jon reached for them again and with a sigh she relented. The dress fell down and Jon smoothed his hands across her shoulders, and she heard him exhale.

“You have nothing to worry about on that account,” He whispered, leaning close to her ear, “I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

Sansa nervously toyed with the ends of her hair, “I was not worried about you,” She turned around and looked at him, “I just did not like the way she was touching you is all.”

Jon smiled then, big and bright, “I won’t let her touch me anymore.”

Sansa nodded.

“Though I have to admit, I like seeing this side of you,” Jon grinned.

Sansa huffed, in annoyance, “What side?”

“It’s nice to see that you want me,” Jon said.

“Of course, I want you,” She had told him so repeatedly, or at least so she thought, “I’ve… I’ve told you so before…”

Suddenly, Jon swept her off her feet.

“What are you doing?” She asked, with a giggle.

“Taking you to bed,” Jon informed her, “So I can show you, how much I want you.”

He laid her on the bed and stripped himself of his shirt. Sansa started to blow out the lantern.

“No,” Jon stopped her, and she looked up at him. His eyes were wide and dark as he looked down at her, “I want to see you… please?” He whispered and crawled onto the bed.

Taking a fortifying breath, Sansa nodded. They had, of course, engaged in intimacies in the light of day, and by candlelight, but Sansa, out of habit still tended to desire the cover of darkness when they were naked together. She took off her night gown and waited for him to move. Her heart started to pound as he studied her. Reaching under her knee, Jon pulled her legs open gently. He moved between them and stroked her calves, and her knees, and ran his hands down her thighs and up again. Sansa’s breathing came deeper. Pressing a kiss to her knee, he lowered his eyes and looked at her between her legs.

After what felt like a long silence, she began to squirm under his gaze as he continued to stroke her legs.

“I love you,” He whispered, and she looked up at the ceiling, feeling guilty that she had not been able to return the sentiment. He crawled up and hovered over her body, dropping a kiss between her breasts, “Its alright, leannan, I don’t need the words now…”

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut trying not to cry at the deep understanding in his voice.

Another kiss to her bosom, “All I need now is to know that there is hope,” Jon whispered, “Is there hope, Sansa?”

She nodded, and in a shaky voice responded, “Yes…”

He exhaled deeply, as if in relief that made her heart wrench. 

She was expecting him to kiss her and enter her, but he began moving lower. Her eyes opened, and she watched his dark curls as he lavished her body with kisses and moved lower. She was shaking.

“I’m going to kiss you down here, sweetheart,” He whispered, his hand moving toward her womanhood.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa nodded.

Jon laid down on his belly, his face level with her center. He murmured something sweet in Gaelic. She knew she was blushing furiously as she stared up at the ceiling. His arms came around her hips, and her legs draped over his shoulders. One of his big hands covered her little bump protectively, stroking soothing circles with his thumb into her skin over their babe. Sansa gulped in air, emotions threatening to choke her. Jon kissed her thigh. Sansa fisted her hand into the sheets. Jon lowered his mouth to her, and she bowed off the bed. His gentle hand on her belly anchored her. Her hands scrambled to cling to something.

“Jon!” She cried out.

He took one of her hands and put it in his hair. She stroked his soft hair and clenched it when the pleasure mounted. Her hips pressed closer to his face, and he groaned, and she could feel him in the depths of her being… that tender hand still resting protectively over her belly… soothing and gentle… She moaned and thought she might break apart. Looking down, she saw him looking at her as his mouth continued to move over, and the love in his eyes, broke her heart… but only in the sweetest of ways.

Her heels dug into the bed. He did not let up. The hand not on her belly, held her hip steady.

Sansa’s back bowed off the bed again, “Jon!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: continuation.... (Jon POV)
> 
> *** side note, I am not sure if people in the early 19th century would have known about the Picts who lived in Scotland as one of it's indigenous people groups, further I do not know a whole lot about the Picts themselves, so please forgive any errors of fact on that account.***


	55. Strange Reconciliations (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too confident with how this chapter turned out, I hope it is not disappointing. It picks up right where the last one left off. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for your lovely, thoughtful comments!

Sansa was panting and straining and Jon kept his attention on her. He kept a gentle hand covering her belly, but the hand he kept on her hip held her firmly. Her fingers clenched in his hair. He lapped at her and she cried out loudly. He lifted his head.

“Does it feel good, love?” He asked in concern, not wishing to hurt her.

“Yes, yes,” She whined breathlessly, “Please…”

He began again and her fingers began to stroke through his hair. Her sweetness would undo him. She seemed to be on the precipice and Jon felt his heart swell with pride and love… he had never been sure if he had ever brought her to this point… she was so quiet about her pleasure, and never spoke of her needs. She always turned red with embarrassment any time he had ever tried to ask, and he did not wish to embarrass her, and so he did all he knew to do to bring her pleasure and hoped she felt loved and cherished in the process even if it was not perfect. Now, though, seeing her gasp and moan, under his attentions, he would never forget what she looked like in this moment.

“Jon, Jon, Jon,” She murmured his name and her head thrashed to the side and buried into the pillow. Another few firm but tender strokes, and she cried out and her body bowed in half off the bed. Jon placed a few more firm licks and kisses against her center as she came down. Her thighs were clenching, and he turned his head and kissed one. As she began to settle, Jon stroked her legs, hoping to calm her. Her body was shaking, and her eyes were still squeezed closed. Sensing that she needed a moment to gather herself, Jon moved reluctantly from between her legs, allowing her to close them and then after wiping his face, he pulled the blanket to cover her so that she was warm and did not feel exposed. He laid down beside her. Her eyes were still squeezed shut and she seemed to still be trying to catch her breath. Jon watched as her chest rose and fell.

Placing his hand on her belly once again, he felt it quiver, “Sansa…” He said softly. He meant to ask her if she was alright, if it had been too much, if he had hurt her, but suddenly she rolled onto her side and buried her face against his bare chest, clinging desperately to him. Smiling, he wrapped both his arms around her and stroked her hair.

She pressed a kiss to his bare chest, “Thank you,” she whispered, and Jon thought he heard tears in her voice, and felt them on her cheeks.

He kissed the top of her head, “Are you alright?”

She nodded against his chest.

He wanted to ask why she was crying, but he also wanted to give her privacy if that is what she needed, and so he held her, and continued to stroke her hair.

After a while, her little breathy sniffles subsided and Jon brushed back some of the hair from her face and she nuzzled her nose against his chest, pressing a kiss to it once again.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Jon asked.

“No, you didn’t,” She whispered, “It felt… it felt…” She blushed, “It felt rather good…”

“Good,” Jon chuckled, but felt relief. In truth, he knew very little himself about how best to please a lady, and so his goal, every time he bedded her, was to ensure that she felt loved, and safe and cherished, and he hoped that provided pleasure.

“Are you going too….?” Sansa asked, as her soft hand stroked his ribs as she gestured downward, “You seem… well, um, you seem ready…”

Jon felt his cheeks flush, “I would not want to make it unpleasant for you…”

“Unpleasant?” Sansa leaned her head back and looked at him.

“I don’t want to burden you with my… _needs_ tonight,” Jon tried to explain.

They rarely, if ever, spoke of their intimacies, and so it was no surprised that they were stumbling over their words now.

“It’s not a burdened to um… to have you,” Sansa said softly, “I… I like it…”

Jon looked down at her to see her eyes studying his chest and her cheeks pink.

“Having you… It makes me feel close to you,” She confessed, “I like feeling close to you.”

Jon’s heart melted. It broke him sometimes to realize that she was as starved for affection as he was, both had known so little affection in their lives. Jon kissed her forehead, determining to remedy that.

“I like feeling close to you too,” He whispered, “May I have you then?”

Her eyes softened and she touched his cheek, “Yes, darling.”

* * *

Jon rose and smiled at the sight of Sansa nestled against his side in the bright morning light. Gently, he extracted himself from the bed and stretched. After dressing for the day, he jogged down the stairs to search out Tormund to ready their carriage. He intended to take Sansa to Edinburgh to shop for new clothes, for as much as she wanted to deny it, her clothes were tighter about her new curves. In addition to the outing providing her clothes and giving her a chance to experience Edinburgh for the first time, it had the added benefit of keeping them away from his relations for the day. Aegon had been nothing but cordial but the tension surrounding their family gatherings was evident. Jon was ready to go home to Winterfell, back where things were simpler, back where they belonged.

“Good morning Jon,” greeted Arianne who looked like she was readying herself to go for a ride.

“Morning,” Jon greeted tersely.

“Your Aunt Dany arrived a little while ago,” said Arianne as she pulled on her riding gloves.

“Did she? What is she doing here so early in the morning?”

“How should I know?” Arianne said with a coquettish toss of her dark curls.

“I assumed you spoke with her,” Jon retorted.

“Greetings were exchanged,” she replied.

“Is she in the parlor?”

“Yes,” Arianne said disinterestedly, “I believe she is waiting to speak with Lady Margaery on matters regarding the wedding.”

Arianne said Margaery’s name like it was a foul word.

“And when should we expect news of your engagement?” Jon asked.

Arianne cut a scathing look at him, but he saw sadness in her eyes, “Really, Jon, don’t be cruel.”

“Aye, I’m sorry,” Jon admitted, “Tis not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Arianne huffed.

“You have to let him go, Ari,” Jon said softly, calling her by the name he and Aegon used to call her by when they were children.

She sniffed and focused her attention on straightening her gloves and hat.

“You know as well as I do what he’s like,” Jon said trying to be gentle.

“All I know, is that he does not want me anymore,” Arianne confessed trying to hold her head high.

“I know it’s not fair or right…” Jon tried.

“And what could you know about how it feels to be passed over for the allure of more money?” She said bitterly, “You have your sweet Lady Sansa, and the two of you are so ridiculously in love I imagine you would be as happy in a shack in the hills as you are in that castle you own.”

Jon was silent in the face of this accusation.

“I heard a rumor that you took her even though she brought nothing with her to your marriage,” Arianne said.

Jon had no intention of indulging rumors, no matter how true, and so he held his tongue. He would not embarrass Sansa by divulging the private particulars of their marital arrangement with Arianne Martell.

“Of the sons of Dragonstone, you truly are the more gallant you know?” Arianne said with a sad sigh, “All the maidens may have swooned over Aegon’s refined looks and charmed tongue, but he is a poor imitation and you, for all of your grumbles, are a true gentleman.”

“Ari…” Jon started.

She chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to steal you away from your Highland princess, I saw her shooting daggers at me with her eyes at the ball…”

Jon smiled.

“I’m just making an observation that was so rarely observed in our youth, and should have been,” Arianne said, “Aegon may have been fawned over, but between the two of you… you, Jon, are the better man.”

With that said, Arianne bid him good day and proceeded toward the stables.

After speaking with Tormund regarding when he wanted the carriage pulled around, Jon proceeded back inside toward the parlor. He would never hear the end of it if he were to sneak away without at least greeting Daenerys. He found her alone in the parlor with her baby.

“Good morning,” He greeted, and came to sit down with her.

“Good morning, nephew,” She said with a smirk, “I’m waiting on your half-witted brother, and his fiancée, we intend to go to Edinburgh today to begin Margaery’s trousseau, I had hoped to see you to see if you and Sansa would care to go with us.”

“Well, actually, Sansa and I have…” Jon started trying to delicately extricate himself from the situation, unfortunately his words often failed him, “Sansa and I have some errands of our own to make in Edinburgh….”

“Perfect, then it is settled, we shall all make a day of it,” said Dany.

“No, what I mean to say…” Jon tried, and as he did the baby started to fuss, interrupting his protestations. 

Dany bounced her, “She’s been rather colicky lately.”

Jon reached over and touched the little infant’s tiny hand.

Dany looked rather beside herself as she tried to sooth the baby, her usually confident mask seeming to slip.

“I can leave the room if she is needing a feed,” Jon offered, “My friend Gilly says it is the only thing that soothes her baby when she gets colicky.”

“She’s just had a feed,” Dany said in exasperation as she patted Rhaella on the back gently.

Jon frowned, unsure how to navigate the situation.

“I’m afraid she does not like me very much,” Dany said with perhaps the saddest look on her face that Jon had ever seen.

“Nonsense,” Jon countered, “She’s a baby and you’re her mother, of course she loves you…”

“I am rather out of my depth with her, I’m afraid,” Dany said, “I suppose one has to have a mother in order to be taught how to be a mother.”

Jon looked at her. Dany’s mother, Jon’s grandmother, had died giving birth to her. Lady Rhaella Targaryen had been too old to deliver a child. Jon’s mother, they said had been too young. Jon’s heart clenched in fear thinking of the dangers posed to his sweet Sansa in the coming months. He had no doubts, however, that Sansa would be an excellent mother… but then again, Sansa had known her mother, albeit for a short time, whereas Dany had never known a mother nor a gentling influence in all her life, having been raised almost entirely first by his grandfather Aerys, and then by Rhaegar and Viserys. Jon supposed it was no wonder that she felt somewhat detached from her maternal nature.

“You’re a fine mother, Dany,” Jon said, “The two of you just have to get used to each other is all.”

Dany chuckled ruefully, but painfully, “I suppose that is why the gods saw fit to make it so difficult for me to have a child, they knew I would be lacking…”

“She’s a miracle,” Jon touched Rhaella’s little tear stained cheek, “And I am sure you are thankful for her even when it’s difficult.”

“Aye, I am,” Dany said with a heavy sigh, “But its difficult more often than not…”

“She’s precious,” Jon said, and chuckled, “She does not look a thing like her father…”

“And it’s a good thing too…” Dany said looking at Rhaella’s little face.

“You and Drogo seem… well, distant,” Jon said trying to be delicate. Though his mind often protested, he did care about Dany, and he did not wish her to be unhappy, and he could not shake the feeling that she was unhappy.

Dany sighed, “Drogo and I have never been close…”

“Surely, you must have some closeness… considering…” Jon gestured toward the infant.

“Surely, you are not naïve enough to think that you have to be close to make a child,” Dany huffed.

“Aye, I suppose not,” Jon felt his face blanche, “Is… is he kind to you?”

Dany looked away.

Jon nodded and did not press. He would not force her to confide in him, but something seemed so off kilter in their relationship.

“I find kindness elsewhere, since my husband has none to spare,” Dany said flatly.

Jon frowned, not sure he wanted to know what she meant by that.

“You do look so disapproving, Jon,” Dany chuckled.

“I am not sure what you think I am disapproving of,” Jon replied.

Dany looked away, turning her attention back on Rhaella.

“I wanted a child so badly,” Dany said softly, “I did not think I would ever have one, I thought I was broken somehow… he made me feel broken…”

Jon’s frown deepened. Viserys had not forced Dany to wed Drogo, she had done it of her own volition. Jon knew she had done it in an effort to escape Viserys, but she had escaped one captor only to be held hostage by another, and his heart did hurt for her.

“Turns out I am not the one who is broken…” Dany said with a pleasant smile at Rhaella.

Once again, Jon was not sure he wanted to know what she meant by that, but it seemed fate was going to force the knowledge upon him.

“Dany…?” he rubbed his eyes, as certain gestures and looks between Dany and a certain man, began to replay in his mind.

She looked at him, her face a mask of innocence.

“Dany, are you telling me that Rhaella is not…” Jon could not bring the words to his lips… they were dangerous words… words that could put both Dany and Rhaella at risk.

“I have not told you anything, Jon,” Dany defended, but Jon could see the truth in her eyes.

“Dany, how could you do this to yourself? To Rhaella?” Jon implored, “What if he found out? You both could be disinherited and flung out of the house!” Part of Jon was angry, that she, who had once separated him from an unsuitable match, seemed all to happy to throw away their family reputation on her own indiscretions. Another part of him was furious that Drogo could treat her so poorly, the man was a villain and Jon was not sure he had the power to do anything about it.

“And however, would he find out?” Dany hissed, “I was… strategic… he has no proof!”

“But he suspects, doesn’t he?” Jon demanded to know, “I see it in his eyes.”

“All you see is his disappointment that Rhaella is a daughter instead of a son,” Dany snapped, holding Rhaella closer as if to protect the child from such horrid thoughts.

Perhaps, all he saw in Drogo was disappointment over the gender of the baby? But it could not be denied that Dany had a proclivity for certain male company. He had only been here a few days and he had seen it himself… Drogo, while a brute he may be, was not stupid. He was bound to notice Dany’s preference of company.

“Dany anyone with eyes could see,” Jon said softly, “You danced with him at the ball in front of the whole parish…”

“He danced with your wife as well, so do you intend to insinuate that a dance definitely points to infidelity?” Dany demanded.

“It was more than the ball, Dany, and you know it.”

“So, what if it was?”

“This is dangerous!”

“And you don’t know what it is like!” Dany snapped, “I had to endure Drogo’s attentions every night year after year, with nothing to show for it! Nothing! Then I spend a handful of nights with someone who is kind to me, and I fall pregnant, and as wrong as it is, perhaps I should feel sorry, but I don’t!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, taking a breath, “You’re right, I don’t know what it’s like, but please, please tell me, that what you were doing with him is over?”

Dany looked down at Rhaella.

“Dany this is serious!” Jon snapped.

“I know very well that its serious!”

“You were lucky this time, Rhaella looks so much like you,” Jon said, coming toward his Aunt and touching the baby’s downy cheek, “But what if you fall pregnant again, only this time the child comes out looking like his real father? You are putting yourself and Rhaella in jeopardy.”

“Maybe he would disown us,” Dany said with a sad and strange glimmer of hope in her eyes. Jon wondered if he could either get the law involved… and if not, he could confront Drogo himself.

“Dany, if he is unkind… if he is cruel….” Jon was not sure what to say or what to offer, “You could leave him, Aegon would have you, as would the Martells… or Sansa and me…”

“You would want me living up in Winterfell?” Dany chuckled, derisively, “You say that because you feel sorry for me, well you don’t need too, I know what I am doing.”

“Dany, I will have words with him…” Jon stated. 

“Leave it alone, Jon,” Dany insisted firmly, “Please…”

Pursing his lips, Jon nodded, gripping his fists in anger.

“Jon!” Margaery’s appearance in the parlor interrupted them before Jon could make any further protestations, “You and Sansa simply must come to town with us!”

Jon had to sigh, “So Dany was just telling me.”

* * *

Jon never thought he would see the day again when he, Aegon and Dany would spend an afternoon in Edinburgh together. Not since Ygritte had they done such a thing… Jon was still wary of this tentative reconciliation but endeavored to put differences aside for the afternoon. Dany had left Rhaella with her nanny so that she could enjoy the afternoon unencumbered. Margaery prattled on about wedding plans as they walked. Sansa clung to Jon’s arm with something akin to amusement on her face. Margaery Tyrell had a rather ostentatious wealth evident to anyone who glanced at her. Dany and Margaery cooed over expensive wedding fabrics and finery’s and discussed the elaborate dress that Margaery intended to order from a dress maker in London. In one shop, Jon watched as Margaery and Dany discussed fabrics for the dress, and Sansa ran her hand, almost shyly, along a few satin bolts. Jon wondered if Sansa ever regretted the hasty nature of the nuptials… They could have taken some time, planned a wedding, ordered her an expensive gown from Paris or London… Instead, they had been in haste to wed, and so their wedding had been so simple. Jon preferred simplicity, but did Sansa regret not having the grand wedding that befitted her rank? He wanted to ask but could not do so here.

They left one fabric store to go to another. This time instead of going inside with the ladies, Aegon pulled back.

“I have a mind to smoke a pipe, Jon and I will wait out here,” Aegon said with an easy smile.

Margaery patted his arm, “Of course, my dear.”

Sansa and Jon exchanged another amused glance, and Jon hung back with Aegon as the women entered the shop.

“You and Sansa are coming to the wedding?” Aegon asked, as he lit his pipe.

“We will not be able. Sansa will be too near her confinement to travel so far,” said Jon, “We are pleased for you though, Margaery will make an excellent Lady of Dragonstone.”

“Aye,” Aegon said with a smile.

“I hope you will be as happily married as I have been,” Jon replied.

“We get on well enough,” Aegon smiled, “I think there are good prospects for happiness.”

Jon nodded. Margaery was amiable enough, but Jon wondered how Aegon would reconcile himself with Margaery when his heart lay with Arianne.

“I am sorry, you know,” Aegon interrupted his thoughts.

“Sorry?”

“For I how I behaved in my visits to Winterfell,” Aegon explained, “I had no business philandering with your common folk, I hope Mya was not to terribly wounded.”

“She was most distraught,” Jon said, wanting Aegon to know the weight of his actions, “But I do believe she has found consolation elsewhere.”

“I’m glad,” Aegon replied, “She’s a sweet girl.”

Jon nodded, still a little rankled at Aegon’s perceived lack of seriousness regarding his conduct toward Mya. He knew though that now was neither the time nor place to further lecture his brother on his indiscretions.

“I am also glad that you and Sansa seemed to be getting on better since last we saw each other.”

“Aye,” Jon replied as he glanced in the window of the shop to see Margaery holding up an elegant emerald fabric to Sansa’s fiery hair. She looked shy about it. He smiled and hoped that Margaery talked her into buying it for a dress.

“She seems to be thriving,” Aegon commented as he looked through the window as well, at Sansa, his tone indicating that he seemed to know that she had not thrived before.

“Aye…I… I think she is happy.”

Aegon clapped him on the shoulder, “She certainly appears so.”

Jon smiled as he looked at his wife once more.

Aegon huffed his pipe, “And you will certainly be a much better father than our own.”

Jon had rarely heard Aegon speak of their father and had never heard him speak negatively of him.

“As will you,” Jon said.

Aegon chuckled ruefully, “Everyone is always telling me that I am like him…”

“I think you have more of Elia in you than most give you credit for,” Jon assured.

“He did both our mothers wrong, you know?” Aegon said casually but with a painful edge to his voice.

Jon looked at the ground, “He did indeed.”

* * *

When they were finished shopping, Jon was pleased to see that Sansa had a few parcels of her own, of which he was excited to see the outcome. She also had a small bouquet of flowers that brought a puzzled smile to his face. He knew her love of flowers, but the poor bouquet was not likely to survive the trip back to Winterfell. They got back into their carriage, having ridden separately from the others.

“Are you pleased with your purchases?” Jon asked with a smile.

“Indeed,” Sansa said.

“I hope you bought enough for more than one dress,” Jon admonished trying to sound light and teasing, but he knew she struggled to spend excess money herself, no matter how much he urged her too.

“I did, thank you,” She grinned, “I also purchased some fabric for baby clothes.”

Jon gave her a soft smile.

“I am still having to relearn my knitting, but my sewing is still quite good,” She said proudly.

“I have no doubts,” Jon took her hand and squeezed it, “Did you get any of that emerald fabric that Margaery suggested?”

“How did you know that Margaery was suggesting that?”

“I was watching through the window.”

“Spying more like,” Sansa teased. He loved it when she felt comfortable enough to tease.

Jon chuckled.

“I thought it rather overpriced, but Margaery assured me it was reasonable for such a quality fabric,” Sansa explained, smoothing her hands over her skirt.

“With the way it set off your eyes and hair, I figured any price would be worth it,” Jon said, and grinned when she blushed.

“Such a flatterer today,” Sansa scolded with a coquettish smile.

“Is it still flattery if it is true?” He asked.

She had no retort at this inquiry and so she took his hand and gave it a squeeze, before turning her attention out the window for their ride back to Dragonstone.

They arrived back at Dragonstone in the late evening. Dany went to fetch her baby and Aegon and Margaery went to the Cook to have some light food prepared since they had not been at home for supper. Instead of following them inside, however, Sansa took his hand and tugged him toward the path leading the garden.

“Just where are we going?” Jon asked teasingly.

“I’m spiriting you away,” Sansa teased right back.

She clasped one of his hands in hers, with her bouquet of flowers in her other hand. She tugged him toward the garden.

“The air is growing cold,” Jon said, not wanting her to catch a chill in the increasingly frosty air.

“We shall not be long,” she said.

When she tugged him toward the family cemetery, her intent became more clear… She had bought flowers to visit his mother’s grave. Jon had to blink back a few tears. No one had ever visited his mother’s grave with him. He had always been alone.

“Show me to her,” Sansa said softly, “We could not leave for Winterfell without my paying respects.”

Jon swallowed and nodded. Gently stroking the hand that was holding his, Jon led his precious wife forward. He liked to think that Lyanna and Sansa would have gotten along well, that Lyanna would have been a second mother to her… and a mother to him. When they approached the stone, Jon inclined his head to indicate to Sansa which one belonged to Lyanna.

Sansa knelt and lay the flowers in front of the stone. She squeezed his hand. For a moment, they were silent before Sansa looked over at him.

“She would have been proud of the man you are,” Sansa said, “Just as I am.”

Jon smiled, and swallowed hard, trying to stay the surprising tears he felt welling behind his eyes. Sansa wrapped her arms around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I want to go home,” She whispered.

Jon kissed the top of her head, “Aye…”


	56. Perfectly Imperfect (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon return home. Jon gets a little bossy in this chapter, but I hope everyone can forgive him, he does not mean to be an ass, he simply wants to keep Sansa safe and goes about it the wrong way sometimes! 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys! Thank you all for the lovely comments! I'm so excited to write this story and everyone's enthusiasm helps keep my spirit up!

They were several hours from Winterfell, but they had need to stop and rest and water the horses. They found a stream and a suitable meadow for their repose, and Jon and Sansa went and sat down in the grass to take out their food for the journey. As they waited for Tormund so that they could eat, Jon laid down and placed his head in Sansa’s lap and promptly fell asleep in the cool afternoon air. Winter was coming, she could feel it in the breeze. Pulling her wrap tighter around her, she stroked Jon’s hair as he slept, her finger’s loosening the tidy knot at the back of his hair. His hair was quite soft for a man, and she liked the way it felt under her fingers. Tormund plodded over to their picnic and plopped down into the grass and chuckled.

“Seems the wee laird has worn himself out,” Tormund grinned, biting into the roll of bread and cheese Sansa had given him. He thanked her in Gaelic, but his thick accent made it difficult for her to understand him. Tormund had been the one to fetch her from her Aunt’s home and brought her to Scotland. He had made her laugh when she had not laughed in so very long. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet it had not even been a year. Had it only been the spring?

“I do believe that wedding you, has been one of his wiser decisions,” said Tormund, “Never seen him so happy before.”

Sansa smiled and looked down at Jon’s sleeping face, his cheek pressed to her lap, “I’m glad he’s happy… for he has made me exceedingly happy myself.”

“I remember when I first came to fetch ye to Scotland,” Tormund said, “Brave little slip of a thing ye were… If ye don’t mind me saying so…”

“I was quite frightened if truth be told.”

“Would not have known it to look at ye.”

“Well, you helped put me at ease,” Sansa said, and Tormund smiled.

“We redheads must stick together,” Tormund said, “Touched by the fairies we are.”

“So, everyone tells me…”

“Makes us almost like kin.”

Sansa chuckled, “Yes, I suppose it does.”

“And besides,” Tormund said with a good-natured grin, “I’d do anything for him anyway.”

Sansa smiled and continued to stroke Jon’s hair.

“He set me back on the right path, when it seemed like the whole world had failed me,” Tormund said, with emotion.

Sansa was not sure what he meant by that, but she knew Jon was a good man who took care of his people.

“Humble as he is,” Tormund continued, “I don’t think he realizes how well loved he is by his common folk. If ever he had need of anything, we’d rally too him like the clansmen of old.”

Sansa looked down at Jon’s sleeping face.

“And we’d do the same for you, m’lady.”

* * *

Entering the house, Jon was handed a small stack of letters and Sansa immediately dropped to the ground to be greeted by the dogs. Lady was beside herself as she tried to place her rapidly growing body in Sansa’s lap while Ghost nudged at her arm.

“Hello my darlings!” She greeted them trying to pet them both at once.

“Its high time the two of ye come home,” Cook said in a huff coming out of the dining room, “Tisn’t fittin’ for both lord and lady to be gone for such a long time!”

“We were scarcely gone a week, Cook,” Jon laughed.

“Still, I feel much better when you’re here and I know where ye be at and what ye be doing,” Cook said, “Who’s looking out for ye on the road?”

“Tormund was with us,” Jon said.

Cook huffed, “That great oaf?”

“Aye.”

She huffed again and shook her head in disapproval, and turned her attention to Sansa, “And keeping the missus out for such a long time in a condition such as hers… I am of a mind to tan your hide, Lord Jon.”

Jon laughed, and Cook put her on hands on her hips.

“Did he see to your welfare, ma’am?” Cook asked with an accusatory look at Jon, “He promised me he’d keep ye warm and fed… Tisn’t natural for a body to go galivanting about the entire country!”

“He kept me quite warm and well fed, Cook,” Sansa assured their dear Cook.

“Good, I assured him we would have words if he did not,” Cook tutted, “I’ll have a supper ready shortly, and I’ll send the maid up to draw you a bath before bed.”

“Thank you, Cook,” Sansa stood, and looked at Jon. Without saying a word, he handed a letter to her. Sansa took it from his hands and saw Baelish’s handwriting. She scowled and looked up to see Jon frowning as he read a letter of his own.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Come, let’s go get changed,” Jon said, “I’ll tell you upstairs…”

“Alright,” Sansa followed him upstairs, and they entered her bedroom so that she could change out of her travel clothes. Without a second thought and without opening the letter, she threw Baelish’s letter in the fire that had been lit in their chambers.

She selected a new gown to change. Jon helped her with the laces, “What’s in the letter?” she asked.

“Someone besides Glover wants that strip of land between our properties,” Jon explained, “Varys says the offer was anonymous but that it was not Glover. It was a generous offer…”

“Are you going to sell it?” Sansa asked.

“No, if I did, I would risk putting ten families out of their homes that live on that stretch of land,” Jon said, “The Winterfell land has more tenants than perhaps any of the other great estates, we own the most land in this region.”

Sansa nodded as she peeled her dress away and pulled on a fresh one.

“Varys says that the person, whoever they might be, originally offered to buy the whole estate,” said Jon with a deep furrow in his brow.

“You wouldn’t….?” Sansa started to ask, feeling alarmed.

“No, no of course not,” Jon said, “But even if we wanted to sale, we could not because of the entail, it would take some serious legal maneuvering and even then I’m not sure it would be possible, which is what Varys informed them and that is when they made the offer for the land.”

“Does Varys give any indication who made the offer?” Sansa asked.

“No, he only says that it was definitively not Glover,” Jon replied, “But I do not like the idea that there is a nameless person out there who has their eye on Winterfell.”

Sansa shivered, “Neither do I.”

Was it the Bolton’s who had made the offer? Is that why it was anonymous? Roose Bolton knew that Jon would never sell Winterfell, or Winterfell land to a Bolton. They did not speak of Baelish’s letter, only watched it burn.

* * *

“I’m so glad you are back,” Randa exclaimed as she and Sansa took tea, the day after Sansa and Jon had returned to Winterfell.

Sansa chuckled, “I was not gone overlong.”

“Perhaps not,” Randa said, “But I have very little to do, and I do so enjoy your company. I have always appreciated women of sense.”

“I missed you too Randa,” Sansa admitted, thinking of Dany, and Arianne and Margaery, and being very thankful indeed for Myranda’s friendship, as well as that of Gilly’s and Mya’s and Marya’s.

“Mya is swiftly losing her head for Podrick Payne, and so I fear that soon she will be quite addled and will no longer belong to our company of sensible women,” Randa laughed.

“I am happy for them,” Sansa said, “They deserve to be happy.”

“Well they are determined to be happy together, that much is sure,” Randa said, “How is the wee one?”

Sansa smiled and instinctively covered her little bump with her hand, “Quite well, not making me quite so sick…”

“That is good,” Randa agreed, “With as sick as you were, I was beginning to think you were eating spoilt meat every day and not with child at all.”

Sansa laughed and rolled her eyes.

“You are certainly beginning to look with child,” Randa continued, giving her an appraising look.

“How does one look with child?” Sansa’s cheeks flushed, “I am barely showing at all.”

“Well, your face is glowing, and I can just see the little curve of your belly beneath your dress,” Randa said, “And your bosom is quite a bit heavier than it used to be.”

Sansa shifted uncomfortably but smiled with amusement, “So Jon tells me.”

“I am sure he is enjoying it,” Randa laughed, “My goodness, I do so love to see your face turn red as cherry’s Sansa!”

Sansa rolled her eyes and went on with the knitting she had in her lap.

“Husbands do seem to be quite fixated on such things,” Randa continued as if they were discussing the weather, “My late husband was always pawing at mine when we were abed, and mine are relatively average in size.”

“Good lord, Randa,” Sansa scoffed with an embarrassed laugh, “Must you be so crass?”

Randa only bellowed with laughter, “I only speak the truth, people of our class in general are far too secretive about such things, common folk grow up knowing all sorts of things we don’t know, simply because they all grew up in one room, or because they are taught it is a natural part of life.”

Sansa supposed that was true.

“I was thoroughly scandalized on my wedding night,” Randa explained, “It’s a good thing my late husband was a kind and patient old fellow, otherwise he might have never gotten me back into that bed.”

“Your mother never told you?” Sansa asked.

“My mother does not speak of such things, my existence is the only evidence that she knows about them at all,” Randa said with an exasperated huff.

Sansa could not help but laugh in embarrassed amusement at Randa’s words. 

“It is not funny you know,” Randa scolded, though her eyes were dancing with laughter, “I had no idea that _that_ was supposed to go in me, and I think it would have been a curtesy if someone had given me a little forewarning before the man was between my legs.”

Sansa nodded in sympathy, while she had known a bit of the mechanics, simply due to past abuses and Harry Hardying’s rather vile tongue, she too had been a little taken aback by the actual act itself. Jon had been sweet though and while it had been imperfect, the memory was strangely tender.

“Thus, began my crusade to remove the shroud of secrecy from such natural aspects of life,” Randa said in conclusion.

“I suppose I cannot fault you,” Sansa said with a smile as she put her snarled knitting aside.

“You are still having trouble with that complicated stitch?” Randa asked, nodding to her knitting.

“Yes, I loved knitting when I was child, but I seemed to have lost some skill.”

“I cannot seem to figure it out either,” Randa said, “Perhaps you should ask someone more senior?”

“Your mother?” Sansa teased, though she felt a keen ache that her own mother would have known. 

“Good lord no, she has not knitted a thing in her entire life!”

“I suppose knitting is not a prerequisite knowledge for a happy marriage and children,” Sansa sighed.

The two girls chuckled together and Randa poured them some more tea.

“I heard rumors that Petyr Baelish was up visiting the Bolton’s again while you and Jon were away,” said Randa. So that it explained Baelish’s letter… he had had likely attempted to come and see her. Sansa cringed.

“You certainly have your ear to the ground, don’t you?” Sansa asked, “What was he doing back up here?”

“Ongoing business with the Bolton’s and a few other estate owners,” said Randa, “But he and the Bolton’s seem rather taken with each other.”

“I don’t like that one bit,” Sansa said.

“They are certainly unsavory characters,” Randa continued, “And Ramsey has been even more reptilian than usual since Jeyne Poole left for the south.”

Sansa cringed, happy to know that the foolish young girl was out of Ramsey’s reach, “The Bolton’s were determined to have her estate.”

“They are hedging in Winterfell,” Randa said.

“Jon thinks the same, where did you hear that?”

“I am a smart girl, I did not hear it anywhere, I can see it with my own eyes,” Randa huffed in mock exasperation, “I just think it’d be wise for you and Jon to steer clear away from the Bolton’s until whatever they are trying to accomplish has played itself out.”

Sansa’s felt anxiety well up inside her and she nodded, “I would have to agree with you.”

* * *

Sansa whined softly, trying to control the noises that she made as Jon pushed hard into her. She did not think it seemly for a lady to be so very loud in the bedchamber. Jon’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he kept his weight off her belly, while one of his hands gently stroked her cheek. He had spent a leisurely time with his mouth between her legs this morning, as he had done at Dragonstone and Sansa had been thoroughly overwhelmed. She had always enjoyed their intimacies, Jon was always gentle and passionate as he showed her the way of things, even that first time when she had been frightened and there had been some pain, still there had been pleasure. It was different when he used his mouth on her though and even the tenor of their loving since had changed. The hand that had been stroking her cheek, suddenly grasped her hip, changing her angle beneath him and she cried out.

“Jon!” Her hands gripped his shoulders.

“Aye, love,” He groaned above her, keeping space between their bodies so that he did not crush her little bump.

She did wish she could wrap her arms around him, but she understood why he was reluctant to put his weight on her. She settled for stroking her hands up and down his sides. Leaning down, he nuzzled a kiss against her neck, before claiming her mouth. She kissed him back tentatively, letting her mouth open so that she could caress his tongue with her own in the way that always drew a moan from him. She enjoyed the sounds he made, it showed her that he was as affected by her as she was by him. She felt she was still very much learning how best to love him in their bed, learning how to touch him to draw those sounds from him, but she hoped, even if her touches were fumbling and imperfect, that he felt her heart in them… that he felt what she struggled to express to him in words… her brave, and gentle, and strong highlander… She reached up and touched his face, which caused him to slow and look at her. He gave her a boyish smile that made her grin. 

“I could keep ye forever just like this,” He grunted, his accent thicker, as it always was when they made love.

Sansa giggled, as her fingers dug into his arm, “T’would be most inconvenient for eating and visiting.”

Jon laughed, “Aye, suppose it would.”

Lady who was now big enough to leap on the bed on her own, suddenly jumped onto the foot of the bed and barked at Jon, causing both of them to startle.

“Blast ye wretched pup!” Jon grumbled, his body jolting a bit in surprise. 

Sansa laughed breathlessly still clutching at Jon, “She’s just worried about me.”

“She’s a menace,” Jon groaned, as he continued to move inside her.

“She’s just a babe,” Sansa said with an indulgent smile at the beast who barked once more at Jon.

“Get down!” Jon barked in return at the dog.

Sansa could not contain her laughter.

“Next time, we put them out before hand,” Jon said.

“Aye, indeed,” Sansa agreed, lifting her head she looked down at Lady, “Down Lady,” She gave the pup a gentle shove with her foot to urge her off the bed, and she jumped down and continued to stare at them from the floor. Laughingly, Jon kissed Sansa’s neck again and sniffed at her hair.

“Ghost knows better than to interrupt us,” Jon said teasingly.

Sansa giggled, and moaned as Jon kept his pace inside her, she could feel the end drawing near, “It’s because he’s male… it’s like he knows what you are doing to me… and is most definitely on your side,” Sansa teased right back.

Jon broke into a fit of laughter, and nearly collapsed on her, but caught himself in time.

A few more firm thrusts, and Jon finally laid down breathlessly beside her and pulled her close. He ran a protective hand over her belly, in the way that always made her smile.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as they lay beside each other, and Sansa snuggled into his side.

“I have not been quite so sick over the last couple of days,” Sansa said with palpable relief, as she took a few steadying breaths.

“I had noticed that you have been able to keep your food down better.”

“Yes, and I’m glad too, because I feel like I am always hungry,” Sansa chuckled, “I’m told that’s common with a babe.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed, “I’d best be getting up, there is work to catch up on since being gone.”

Sansa kissed his shoulder, “Yes,” She sat up, drawing the sheet up with her to cover her bare breasts.

Jon’s hand stroked her back for a moment before he sat up as well. He got out of bed, quite naked, and walked over to open the window. The cold morning air caused Sansa to draw the sheets closer. He brought her her warm robe before he began to rummage through his wardrobe for some clothes. She watched Jon from the bed as he began to dress himself.

“After I take care of my morning business with Cook and the ledgers, I am going to walk up to the Seaworth’s and see Marya,” Sansa said as she stood and pulled her robe tight around her. He looked at her and frowned.

“It’s getting colder, and that’s a long walk,” Jon said.

“It’s not yet so cold in the afternoons that I can’t walk, as long as I have my coat and wrap,” Sansa said casually, “I’ll be back before supper, I just thought to take tea with her.”

“You were out all afternoon yesterday as well,” said Jon with a sigh.

“Yes, I was with Randa, and I took the carriage if you recall,” Sansa retorted feeling suddenly defensive, not sure why he was being so grumpy about her leaving.

“I’d rather you stay, or take the carriage,” Jon said tersely.

“I do not need the carriage brought round for a simple walk to the Seaworth’s, it’s not that far,” Sansa said, “A brisk walk in the fresh air will do me good.”

“I’d rather you did not walk,” Jon said.

Sansa looked at him, “I want to walk, and I am going to walk.”

“You don’t need to overexert yourself, and you don’t need to catch a chill,” Jon retorted.

“You are fretting over nothing,” Sansa said with a huff.

“Your welfare is not nothing!” Jon snapped.

Sansa touched his arm, “I’ll be fine, I need the exercise and I want to see Marya.”

“No,” Jon turned and looked at her.

Sansa recoiled, feeling anger brewing inside her, “What do you mean ‘ _no_ ’?”

“I don’t want you walking across the countryside alone and in the cold, carrying our baby.”

Red hot anger shot through her and she crossed her arms over her chest, “I will walk where I please!”

“Well, I’d prefer if you have to go out, if you would take the carriage,” Jon snapped, sounding just as angry as she.

“You can’t tell me what to do, _Lord Jon_!” Sansa sneered.

“I most certainly can!” he snapped, “This is my baby too, and I intend to see you both safe!”

Sansa turned on her heel and stomped toward the door to the study to go to her own room, “I am walking to the Seaworth’s whether you like it or not!”

“I will call Tormund to bring the carriage around!” Jon said irritably.

“You may do what you wish,” Sansa huffed, “But I am walking!”

“Don’t be so pigheaded, I just want you to be safe!” Jon growled.

“Pig headed?” Sansa whirled around and glared at him, both their tempers flared and ready to lash out.

“You’re being stubborn for no reason, we have a carriage for you to use when you have need of it,” Jon said.

“And I will use it when I have need of it, but I don’t need it today!” Sansa hissed, “I don’t need you to tell me what I need!”

“Sansa!”

“Leave me be, I have things to attend today! I will see you at supper time!” Sansa nearly shouted, “ _After_ I walk to the Seaworth’s,” and then she slammed the door on him.

* * *

Sansa marched herself determinedly to the Seaworth’s that afternoon, completely exasperated by Jon’s lordly behavior. It was not like him to be bossy or abrasive, she did not know what had gotten into him this morning. Marya had poured her some tea and the two of them sat in the parlor with Sansa’s knitting. Marya was helping her with the knitting pattern, that Sansa had asked for assistance with, it was the primary reason she had come to the Seaworth’s today. She just wanted to relearn how to knit. She knitted so well when she was a child.

“That’s the way of it,” Marya encouraged Sansa as she showed Sansa the special stitches. Marya touched Sansa’s hair in display of motherly affection that Sansa had not experienced in years.

“Thank you,” Sansa said softly, “I used to knit beautifully when I was a child but lost some of my skill over the years due to lack of practice, and a preference for embroidery.”

“Well, now you have lots of time to practice as you look forward to the little one coming,” Marya said gently, “But always remember, it does not have to be perfect for it to be usable and full of love.”

Sansa smiled, and took a sip of her tea, “I am excited to make things for my baby, it makes everything seem so much more real.”

Marya smiled, “Have you started to prepare a nursery?”

“Not yet,” Sansa said, “I suppose Jon and I need to decide what room we want to use for the babe, and I wanted to ask him if any of my mother’s baby things are still stored in the house somewhere.”

“Well you have time,” Marya encouraged.

“I am certain that Jon doesn’t want me rummaging around the house in my _condition_ ,” Sansa said bitterly.

Marya chuckled, “Well you certainly should not be doing any heavy lifting but poking around should do you no harm.”

“He told me that I could not walk here in my condition,” Sansa said with a huff of residual irritation with her husband for ordering her about.

Marya laughed, “There is no harm in you walking.”

“It’s not like I walked all the way town!” Sansa exclaimed, “I don’t know what came over him this morning, he’s not usually so commanding and abrasive with me, or with anyone really.”

“Stand firm, my dear, Jon is just over worried, Davos was much the same when I was expecting our first child,” Marya said patting her hand, “But you know what is good for you and for your babe, and I know you will not exert yourself beyond what is reasonable.”

“He spends so much time fretting over me,” Sansa said with a huff of exasperation, “I am surprised he does not lose sleep at night.”

Marya chuckled, “He likely does, poor dear, but he will be alright, you are not a child and you know what your body can handle. He needs to trust you, just as you trust him.”

 _Love always trusts_ , Sansa recalled another portion of the scripture her mother used to read to her.

“He’s like a petulant mother hen,” she said with an irritable stab at her yarn with her knitting needle.

Marya laughed heartily at that, and then said with a teasing smile, “After you have your seventh, he’s sure to calm, he’s learning to be a father just like you are learning to be a mother.”

Sansa chuckled, but blanched at the idea of seven children. Marya had seven children, and Sansa and Jon certainly wanted a large family, but fear still haunted Sansa at times. She remembered Gilly’s birth, and cringed. She would have to take it one at a time.

“I’m frightened sometimes,” Sansa said.

“That’s very natural,” Marya touched her hair, “Bearing children will be one of the greater travails of your life, but I promise you, it is worth it when you have that sweet babe in your arms, made from yours and Jon’s love.”

“I don’t feel adequately prepared,” Sansa confessed.

“One rarely does,” Marya sympathized, “But I will help you as much as I can, and Gilly, I know, will be there for you too. You are not alone in this.”

She was not alone, Sansa smiled, and for the first time in such a long time she believed it.

* * *

Jon looked like a kicked puppy when she returned from the Seaworth’s and found him waiting for her in the dining room.

“I’m sorry,” He said immediately.

She smiled at him, “I’m sorry too.”

“I have no business ordering you around, you are not a child,” Jon said coming to her side and pulled a chair out for her.

“And I should not have stomped off to the Seaworth’s without speaking with you further,” Sansa said.

He kissed the top of her head, “I know I worry over much…”

“You do,” She confirmed, “I wish you would trust me.”

He blinked at her, “I do trust you.”

“Do you?” She asked gently.

“Aye,” He said, and knelt beside her, and tucked some hair behind her ear, “It’s just, I worry for you…”

“I know,” She said softly, and stroked his bearded cheek. His tender eyes studied her and her heart softened... So this was their life... imperfect but still good...

“My mother died in childbirth,” Jon said, his voice full of pain, “And as you have pointed out, women lose unborn babes at times…”

Sansa nodded, feeling her throat constrict with emotion.

“I’m frightened for you,” He confessed and put his hand over her stomach, “And for the babe.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, “I am too.”

He leaned his head against her cheek, “I want to keep you safe.”

“I know,” said Sansa, “But can you learn to trust me? I am not going to put myself or the babe at risk.”

Jon nodded, “I do trust you, and I can learn to trust you better.”

Sansa kissed him gently, “I’m sorry for letting my temper get the better of me this morning.”

“And I am sorry for being an overbearing arse,” Jon said, and she laughed and kissed him again, “I don’t want to be that way with you.”

Sansa touched his cheek, “I know.”

“Shall we eat?” he asked.

“Yes.”

After the meal was served and Sansa and Jon ate, they spoke about their day. Sansa was so glad to be back in the comfort and privacy of their own home.

“Which room do you think we should use for the nursery?” Sansa asked.

Jon looked up at her, “Perhaps the one across from our room?”

Sansa nodded, she had thought much the same, or perhaps using her bedroom as the nursery since she slept now in Jon’s room. There were plenty of rooms to choose from, but Sansa wanted the baby close to them, as she did not intend to have a nanny or nursemaid to care for their baby. She wanted to care for their baby herself.

“Are any of my mother’s baby things, or furniture still in the house?” Sansa asked, feeling a little hesitant. She was not sure if she was ready to go through her mother’s things, to see the items her mother used as she nurtured her Stark babes.

“Aye, I am sure of it,” Jon said softly, his eyes full of understanding, “Many of the items that were not immediately useful in the house, were put into the attic for storage. I have not sorted through anything since I moved in.”

Sansa nodded.

“It felt wrong to me to get rid of anything that belonged to the family,” Jon explained, “And I am glad I didn’t.”

Sansa nodded again.

“After supper we can go to the attic together and see what is there.”

Was she ready to see it all? Sansa was not sure. Could she sort through the remnants of her parents’ life and see how they built a home together and loved together and raised their children together?


	57. Ventures (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your lovely and encouraging comments! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Over a week a had gone by after Sansa had requested to know if her family’s belongings still resided in the castle somewhere. Jon knew that everything he had not found immediately useful upon taking ownership of the estate, had been placed into the attic or into various spare rooms, of which there were many. Winterfell was no small place, but Jon thought it might be best to start their search in the attic, for anything pertaining to an infant was surely put away. For over a week now, though, they had gone about their business catching up on their work, taking care of each other and of Winterfell, and Sansa had not brought it up again. He had almost begun to believe she had forgotten until he had caught her in the room across the hall from their own obviously making assessments of its suitability for the baby. Still, she did not bring it up.

“Might we change the drapes in the room for the nursery?” Sansa asked suddenly, breaking the quiet of the evening and interrupting his thoughts.

Jon looked up from his newspaper, to where she was sitting in front of the fire knitting.

“We can change anything you’d like about the room,” Jon said with an encouraging smile.

She nodded and went back to her needles. Should he ask her?

“We can also go to town and commission a cradle to be built, and any other furnishing suitable for the baby’s needs,” He offered hoping to coax some words from her.

“I’d rather use my mother and father’s things,” She said quickly still looking at the knitting in her lap.

“Have you or one of the maids been able to take a look in the attic yet?” He asked carefully.

“No,” she replied softly.

“Perhaps you and I can do it together?” He offered.

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow?”

She looked at him then, “Yes, perhaps so.”

As they both returned their attention to their evening’s leisure, the maid announced they had a visitor. Jon had to grin as Sansa quickly put her bare feet back in her shoes and straightened her skirts. Jon stood to greet the visitor and found Sam to be the one who was ushered in.

“Sorry to disturb your evening,” Sam said.

“There’s no disturbance,” Jon assured.

“I’ll call for some tea for us, come sit Sam,” Sansa said sweetly, and instructed the maid to bring a tea tray before Sam could protest.

“What brings you up this way?” Jon asked as they all sat back down.

“I was up at the Seaworth’s,” Sam said simply.

“Everyone is well I hope?” Jon asked, though he knew Sam would never betray his patient’s confidence no matter how close of friends they all were.

“I thought I’d stop by for a chat, and to check on Sansa,” Sam explained.

Sansa smiled contentedly with her hands covering her little swollen belly. She was showing more now than she was even a week ago and Jon was a little bit in awe of the miracle of life occurring inside her.

“I’m doing quite well Sam,” She assured.

“Not putting to much stress on yourself?” Sam asked.

Jon and Sansa exchanged amused looks with each other, “No,” She said.

“Well from what I can tell, you are well out of the most fragile time,” Sam grinned.

Sansa ran her hand across her belly in a gesture, that Jon had noticed her do more often than she did before. He found it endearing… it was as if she were already cradling their babe in her arms. Sam asked her a few more questions about her appetite and about any concerning aches or pains, and Sansa answered them all with that gentle, sweet smile on her face.

“Have you been up to town recently?” Sam asked Jon, after he finished his line of questioning with Sansa. She poured them each some tea.

“No, not in the last few days, why?” Jon asked.

“The Glovers, are doing what they can to enclose their land, and it’s causing a bit of uproar,” Sam said, “And the Blackwoods are selling their estate and moving to Aberdeen.”

“The Blackwoods are selling?” Jon found that truly surprising. The Blackwood estate was one of the smaller estates in the region, mostly tenant land rather than farming land, but it possessed a charming house, and a very nice pasture for a small sheep farm, alongside the tenant farms.

“Are there any buyers?” Jon asked.

“Well, the Bolton’s have naturally put up an offer.”

Jon sighed, “I’m fairly certain that the Bolton’s put up to buy Winterfell, and when they realized they couldn’t they tried to buy that stretch of land bordering the Glovers.”

“Well, apparently, the Blackwoods have refused to sell to the Boltons,” Sam said.

“Why is that?” Sansa asked curiously.

“I’m sure Jon recalls the trial some time back where Ramsey was brought up on charges of rape,” Sam said taking a sip of his tea.

“Aye,” Jon said darkly, “The bastard was acquitted…”

“Well, he may have been deemed innocent by the courts, but the young lady was a tenant of the Blackwoods, and it seems they believe the girl over the courts, and will not sell to the Bolton’s,” Sam explained.

A small but noble house, they were indeed, Jon had to smile, though Ramsey’s escape from justice still haunted him at times. Ramsey walking free made him fear for Sansa when she would wander about the countryside alone, and yet he further knew they could not live in perpetual fear of him, and he certainly could not keep Sansa cloistered up at Winterfell.

“Someday that vile man is going to get what is coming to him,” Jon said, looking down into his tea.

“I know Gilly and I pray daily that the truth will come to light,” Sam agreed.

“Does the Blackwood estate have any other offers?” Sansa asked.

Jon chuckled, and could not help but tease, “Are you thinking of moving?”

She laughed, “I’m only curious, Jon.”

“I haven’t heard if anyone else has come forward to buy the old place, or not,” Sam said.

“I’ll ask Randa, next time I see her, she’s sure to know,” Sansa said.

Both men laughed because they knew it was true. Myranda Royce was a veritable wealth of information, and almost all of it was very reliable gossip. Myranda was a strong-willed and intelligent woman, he wondered if she might purchase the Blackwood estate? It was small enough for her to manage on her own, and though it may be frowned upon for a young woman to live alone and own her own estate, Jon knew that Randa did not care much for the opinions of all the old gossip with whom she was in the business of trading information with. Perhaps she might try her hand at a different kind of business?

* * *

Jon told Sansa at breakfast the next day that he would spend the afternoon helping her find the items in the attic that they would need for the baby. A little while after lunch, however, she seemed to disappear. He looked for her in the castle for a while before their maid told him she had ventured outside with a guest. Myranda Royce had apparently stopped by for afternoon tea, and for some reason Sansa had dragged her out to the barns. Sansa’s curiosity and active mind never ceased to amaze him, but right now he got the distinct impression she was trying to avoid something… something she did not want to face. He found her and Randa speaking with Podrick and Grenn about the sheep, and surprisingly about the impending sheep breeding season… not typical fare for the conversation of two gentleladies.

“Here you are,” Jon said.

“Oh, Jon,” Sansa said with a smiled as she reached for his hand and tugged her toward him, “I was showing Randa the sheep.”

“Has Randa never seen sheep before?” He teased, drawing an eye roll from Randa.

“Rancid smelling creatures, but they seem harmless enough,” Randa said.

“Are you thinking of getting a few of your own?” Jon asked.

“Sansa seems to think I should go into business for myself,” said Randa.

“And why not? You’re an independently wealthy and industrious young woman with your whole life ahead of you,” Sansa said, “Sheep farming is a worthwhile endeavor.”

“And what if my thriving and lucrative business put Winterfell in the gutter?” Randa asked with a smirk.

Jon laughed and she shot him a glare.

“Don’t underestimate me, Jon Snow,” She quipped.

“Never,” Jon conceded with a grin.

“If I were to go into business for myself, I would certainly need to hire a few someones who knew what they were doing, until I learned the way of things,” Randa gnawed her lower lip as if she was actually considering Sansa’s idea. Jon thought it would do her good.

“Depending on how large your acreage was, it would not need to be many people,” Podrick chimed in, “One or two experienced hands is all you would need for a small operation.”

“Is your father giving you some land to work?” Jon asked curiously.

“Good lord no, that man wants to marry me off again, doesn’t think me capable of running my own sheep,” Randa huffed, “And so I am considering showing him otherwise.”

“The Blackwood estate has come up for sale,” Jon said nonchalantly, though he knew his subtly could use some improvement.

“Don’t you know I am well aware of such things?” Randa chuckled, looking at the sheep again.

Jon and Sansa exchanged amused looks. How they had seemed to arrive at the same idea regarding Randa without having discussed it surprised him, but he was enjoying this oneness of mind with his wife.

* * *

Since Sansa was preoccupied with Randa, having a very detailed discussion with the shepherds about sheep rearing, Jon decided to walk the fields with Davos. Harvest was near, and Jon and Davos had much to discuss regarding their plans.

“It’s promising to be a cold winter,” said Davos.

“Aye, I just hope there is not a frost before we get the crops up,” Jon said. Sometimes he worried that he had diversified the Winterfell production too much, made it overcomplicated, and taken on more than he could handle. Every year, however, they seemed to do better than the prior year, though it did not stop Jon from fretting and worrying over their operations. Autumn was always a busy time for Winterfell, with harvest and breeding season for the sheep happening simultaneously. There was much work to be accomplished before they all hunkered down for the cold northern winter. Jon wanted to have everything in order before winter set in and Sansa went into her confinement. He worried about her giving birth in the dead of winter… but perhaps, she was right in that he worried too much?

“How’s Marya?” Jon asked, as they continued to survey the field.

“She’s suffering a bit from the cool air,” Davos replied, “The cold causes her bones to ache, sometimes it’s so severe she cannot get up, Sam says it is a severe rheumatism.”

“Do the two of you need anything?” Jon asked, in concern.

“Oh no, we manage alright, we are just not as young as we used to be,” Davos chuckled sadly, “Our kitchen maid is a great help to us, and one of our boys and his wife still live nearby.”

Jon nodded.

“I do believe this stock should be the first up,” Davos said as he investigated some of the plants.

“Aye, I agree,” Jon concurred, though he bowed to Davos’ superior knowledge when it came to their crops.

Davos looked out over the field and pastures, “Another year nearly gone by…”

Jon swept his eyes across his corner of Scotland… his kingdom… and sighed in contentment.

“Time seems to move faster these days,” Davos said with the weariness of an old man, “I saw Sansa in the barns earlier inspecting the sheep with Myranda Royce.”

Jon chuckled, “Aye, I think Sansa is plotting…”

Davos chuckled, “She seems happy and in good spirits.”

“When she first came here, I feared I would not be able to make her happy,” Jon confessed.

“Well, people respond to being well loved,” Davos encouraged, “It’s like watering a flower.”

Jon smiled.

“When is the wee one expected?” Davos asked.

“Sam says sometime in January or early February, I believe Marya concurred,” Jon said.

“Sansa’s beginning to get that radiant look about her,” Davos said, “it always happened to my wife around this time.”

“She’s certainly lovely,” Jon agreed, “Though sometimes I can’t rest for worrying over her.”

Davos chuckled and patted his shoulder, “That never really goes away…”

Jon huffed, “Thanks for the forewarning…”

“She’s the woman you love, whom you share your life with,” Davos explained, “And she’s carrying your child, childbirth can be a perilous business… seven births and during each one I was terrified,” Davos looked at him, “No, the worry never really leaves, but as time goes on you can learn to put that worry to constructive use.”

Jon could only nod, not sure how his crippling concern for Sansa could be put to constructive use.

They headed back to toward the castle further discussing harvest plans and plans needing to be made for winter before Jon broached a subject he had been pondering since returning from Dragonstone.

“By next sheering season, I want to try and have some sort of industry in place to process our wool,” Jon said, “It was recommended to me that instead of instituting a large mill, that we develop an operation more like tenant farming, where our tenants process the wool in their homes, for a wage of course. Do you think something of that nature would be possible?”

Davos scratched his beard, “Perhaps so… it is a little unorthodox, but you would need fewer investors…”

“Aye,” Jon replied, “And if other sheep farmers here, even if they did not invest, if they sold their unprocessed wool to me to process instead southern mills, it would save them shipping costs, which ultimately provides largely profits all around.”

“I think it has promise,” Davos said, “I think a trip to see Varys is in order to see what kind of capital you would need to start such an enterprise, and see how many investors he thinks would be wise.”

Jon nodded. His scheme thus far was only half formed, but it was rapidly taking shape in his mind. Further, he wanted to discuss it with Sansa, as she had keen wisdom for business matters that he was growing to appreciate.

* * *

When Randa left for the day, Jon went with Sansa outside to see her off. As they waved their goodbyes, Jon took Sansa’s little hand in his and shuddered.

“Your hands are freezing,” He chuckled and took both of them in his to generate some warmth.

“My hands are always cold,” She giggled.

Looping his arm around her waist, he tugged her close and led her back inside the house, “No they’re not, every part of you is warm.”

“That is your imagination,” Sansa teased as they headed up stairs toward their chambers.

“Would you still like to poke about the attic with me, and look for baby things?” Jon asked.

Her smile fell for a moment, but it returned, “Oh, I had forgotten. Do you not have anymore work to do?”

“No, the day is over.”

She gnawed her lower lip.

“If you’d rather not…?” Jon started to offer unsure how to interpret her hesitancy.

“No, no its just….” She stammered, “Those things… they belonged to my parents, they were mine when I was a babe, and Robb’s and Arya’s….” She looked at him, “Sometimes remembering is more painful than forgetting…”

Jon pulled her close and kissed her forehead, “We can just as easily buy all new things if that is truly what you want, but facing the past… facing memory… is something that should be done…”

Sansa nodded. 

He smiled at her, “We can face it together?” He offered her his hand and she took it.

“Now?” She asked.

“Aye, what harm could it do?” Jon asked.

She nodded again and allowed him to lead her toward the far spiral staircase that led to the attic.

There was an almost sacred stillness to the room when they reached the top of the stairs and opened the door. It was filled with trunks, and trinkets and unused furniture… containing the personal belongings of the happy family that once inhabited the castle… Sansa’s family… the type of family that Jon had longed for his whole life. He watched Sansa carefully as she entered, ghosting her fingers across a dusty mahogany shelf. She was quiet and her face unreadable. Biting her lip, she touched a doll that sat haphazardly on a chest, and from a shelf she lifted a set of bagpipes. She was right in front of him, but she was a thousand miles away.

At the far end of the room, Jon could see a cradle. He would call up Tormund tomorrow for assistance in bringing it to the nursery. Sansa still had not said anything.

“The cradle is beautiful,” Jon said softly nodding toward the piece of furniture.

She looked up and her eyes lighted on it, “Yes, it is.”

“What else do you see?” Jon urged, and did not expect the response that fell from her lips.

“I see a little boy and two little girls playing monsters and maidens in hay bales…” Her eyes grew a little misty.

Jon swallowed hard, feeling his hurt ache for her.

“I see a mother and father who loved each other so well, that it spilled out over everything they touched,” Sansa whispered, as she knelt in front of trunk that had her mother’s initials carved into the top. She opened it, her eyes, though misty, were still resolute. Jon knelt beside her, but remained silent, giving her time and space.

From the trunk, Sansa pulled a baby dress, a bible, a childish drawing, and an exquisitely knitted baby blanket. In these items, Jon saw the heart of Catelyn Stark, for it was not jewels or expensive family heirlooms which Catelyn had treasured away in the trunk… no, it was far more precious… and spoke far more profoundly of who she was and how much she loved her family.

“She saved everything we made for her,” Sansa said with a sweet nostalgic smile, setting aside the drawing and handing Jon a rather bedraggled scrap of fabric that had some semblance of embroidery on it, “Arya made that,” She explained.

Jon chuckled as he examined the misshapen fabric.

“She was atrocious at sewing, and I teased her mercilessly for it,” Sansa said, “She gave that to Mother, and Mother said not a word, only thanked her and said she would treasure it always.”

Unable to stop himself, Jon reached out and stroked her arm.

“Arya always said she had no use for sewing, because she planned to be a Jacobite,” Sansa laughed, though her eyes were profoundly sad.

Jon laughed with her.

“Father indulged her and let her learn to wield a rapier with Robb,” She continued, “Arya was determined to wear a tartan kilt and was quite put out when Mother told her she could not.”

“I think I would have liked to have known her,” Jon said.

“We would never have gotten her off our hands,” Sansa chuckled, “She held the only man worth his salt was the Bonnie Prince, and so was determined to never marry.”

Jon laughed, “And you? Did you dream of Bonnie Princes?”

Sansa smiled wistfully, as she pulled a flower crown from the trunk, it was made of dried and brittle flowers that lost a few petals when she she touched it.

“I dreamt of a lord, brave and gentle, who would love me like the songs and stories promised,” she smiled at him, “I suppose some dreams do come true.”

Jon flushed at her tender praise.

Next, she drew out what appeared to be a wooden toy sword.

“You would have liked Robb, and Robb would have liked you,” Sansa said softly, “I wish you could have known him; he always wanted a brother…”

Jon felt a sharp pain in his heart… had Robb lived, Jon would likely have been in lost in the army or wasting his life on some worthless endeavor, trying to make something of himself. He would never have been deemed worthy to wed Ned Stark’s daughter. It haunted him at times that he had everything he had today, all because Robb Stark died.

“I wish you could have been friends,” she said.

Jon only nodded; he would not correct her with the harsh reality that they would likely have never met if Robb had not died. The world was cruel that way.

Sansa clutched the knitted baby blanket against her chest, as her hands sought other treasures that her mother had kept hidden away. From the trunk she pulled a simple silver hairbrush, obviously well used. She stared at it for a few moments and then looked at Jon. The tears that had been held at bay suddenly broke forth down her cheeks in little rivers.

“She used to brush my hair every night before bed, she never let a maid do it,” Sansa cried, “she said there would only be so many years that she would be allowed to brush my hair.”

His own heartbreaking, Jon pulled her toward him, and she wept against his chest for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: A harvest festival, among other things


	58. Autumn Harvests (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit. I have mulled over this chapter for days, and still not sure it turned out quite right. I hope everyone enjoys anyway. Thank you so much for reading and for your thoughtful comments!

Sansa frolicked, as much as she could frolic, with the dogs in the courtyard. Tormund arrived and approached her.

“Morning, m’lady,” he greeted and in his hand was a letter which he was holding out to her.

“Was this all that came?” She asked, pushing back some of the hair that had fallen from hair braid.

“Aye, ma’am,” Tormund said, he looked her up and down, “I see the wee’un is not giving you quite so many fits these days.”

“Yes, I am feeling much better,” Sansa smiled and turned the letter over in her hand. It was for her, not Jon. She frowned. It was from Petyr Baelish. Why could he not leave her alone? She had burned his last letter and had a mind to do the same with this one…

“Thank you, Tormund,” She said and headed inside, whistling for the two dogs to follow her. She ascended the stairs to the study where she knew Jon was bent over papers, with that thoughtful frown creasing his brow.

“You look very serious,” She greeted as she came to his side and rubbed the back of his neck. She felt some of the tension drain from him at her touch. She did not often touch him outside of their bed, but she was trying to be more bold with him.

“Just a lot of work to do before the winter sets in,” said Jon with a sigh and a tired smile at her.

“Do you need help?” She asked. Usually, Sansa took care of household business and occasionally managed staff salaries for the estate. Only once before had he asked for help with their business affairs. Their business interests were diverse, and she knew sometimes he tried to balance more than he could handle on his own. She did not know what drove him to work so fiercely.

He looked at her and sighed, “Aye, could you take a look at the shipping accounts? I want to have everything in order there so that we can ship the harvest to market in a timely fashion.”

Winterfell owned a ship that took care of the majority of their shipping needs, but Jon had explained to her a few weeks ago that sometimes other farms hereabout hired Winterfell’s ship, and occasionally at harvest time they needed more than one to ship to carry the entire harvest to market, and so he would contract third party vessels to take care of their own shipping needs and those who hired him to take care of theirs. Sansa nodded and took the ledger that he offered from his hands. His eyes landed on the letter in hers.

“Tormund brought up the mail?”

“Yes, this was all that came,” She handed him the unopened letter so he could see.

Jon frowned, “He is rather bold.”

“Aye, I don’t like that he feels at liberty to write to me,” Sansa confessed, “I have half a mind to burn this one as well. “

“I’ll write to him if you want me too,” Jon offered, giving the letter back to her.

“No, I think it best left alone,” Sansa said, “The only reason I consider reading it is that I do worry for Robyn.”

Jon nodding in understanding.

Sansa sat down on her side of the massive desk and stared some more at the missive.

“If you feel its going to haunt you, you should read it,” Jon said, though he sounded surly, no doubt due to the liberties that Baelish thought it appropriate to take with his wife.

Sansa nodded, and thought for only a moment more before breaking the seal.

 _“My dear niece…”_ the opening read, and Sansa cringed. He had never treated her as an uncle should, _“…I hear from friends in the North that congratulations are in order, may you be blessed with a son to quell any fears regarding the entailment of the estate…”_ Sansa grew angry. While she herself felt that she was carrying a boy, she would never allow her baby girl to feel unwanted should she have a girl. The rest of the letter was rather mundane, until she came to the end, _“…Should anything happen to Jon, or you or your child are in need of refuge, know that there will always be a place for you at the Eyrie. Please know that I am forever your humble servant, and your devoted uncle for the sake of both your aunt and your mother…”_

Sansa slammed the letter down so aggressively, Jon jumped.

“He thinks he has me in the palm of his hand,” she growled, “And he all but threatened you. I still cannot shake the feeling that he did something to my aunt so that he could control Robyn and the Eyrie.”

“He’s as vile as the Bolton’s,” Jon agreed.

“It’s likely why they get on so well,” Sansa sighed, “If ever he makes another trip north, I do not want him here.”

“Nor I,” Jon said.

Sansa rubbed a hand down her face. Jon reached over and took her hand, giving it a squeeze, and she looked up and smiled at him.

“On a happy note, Randa has decided to buy the Blackwood Estate,” Sansa said.

“I’m happy for her, I think she will do well for herself,” Jon grinned.

“I think she did it to upset her father more than anything,” Sansa laughed, “But I think once she sets her mind to it, she will do well.”

“We will help her along if she needs assistance,” Jon assured, “Randa is much too good a friend to abandon.”

“She is.”

“Did you invite her to the Harvest festival?” Jon asked.

The Harvest festival was near, and though it was mainly for their tenants, they had invited a few close friends as well, namely Randa, “Yes, I did, and I imagine she is coming, though has not told me yes or no.”

“It will be a splendid party,” Jon assured her. He knew she had been nervous, having never been in charge of anything of import in her entire life, until coming here. She treasured his praise.

“I cannot believe Winter is nearly upon us,” Sansa said with a sigh, sometimes it seemed like only yesterday when she had returned here… other times it felt like a lifetime ago.

“I cannot believe you are already so near your confinement, just a couple of months now,” Jon took her hand.

Sansa wrinkled her nose, “I don’t relish the idea of being cooped up in the house for such a long time.”

Jon chuckled, “Well, I don’t relish the idea of you giving birth to our child in the middle of a field, so confined you will be.”

Sansa laughed at that, “Yes, m’lord.”

He shook his head with a playful grin upon his face. Reaching across the desk, he touched her cheek, and she smiled and leaned into his hand.

* * *

“I think it a charming villa,” said Randa, as she, Sansa and Mya Stone surveyed Blackwood Manor.

“It’s not so imposing as Winterfell,” Mya said approvingly.

Sansa smiled at her friends, “I think its settled, Randa, the place should be yours.”

“Until I wed some surly lordling and then it will be his,” Randa huffed, making the other two chuckle.

“You need never marry again if you do not wish it,” Sansa said. A year ago, Sansa would have envied Randa’s freedom… she put a hand on her belly, there was no envy now. Her life with Jon was turning out better even than her dreams.

“The two of you are going to be fat old ladies with a horde of babies, and I shall forever be a stalwart symbol of feminine freedom,” Randa declared with a laugh. Sansa, though, knew that despite her fine words, Randa was lonely. While she had not been in love with her late husband, she had been fond of the old man and did still mourn his companionship.

The three women returned to Randa’s carriage. Mya had looked decidedly uncomfortable riding in a gentlewoman’s carriage when they had picked her up from her little cottage, but Randa’s prattle and her insistence that Jon would have them hanged if they made Sansa walk all the way to Blackwood Manor had served to ease her some.

“I hope Sansa and Jon will forgive me,” Randa began as the carriage bounced down the road, “But I plan to ask Podrick Payne if he might be my steward and manage my future sheep for me.”

Looking at her friend, Sansa felt both joy and sadness overcome her. She would be sad to lose Podrick, he had been a dear friend over the months since she had come to be at Winterfell, but working for Randa would provide him an opportunity otherwise unavailable to him, and may even provide him living enough to marry Mya. Davos was irreplaceable at Winterfell as steward, and so Randa was offering Podrick an opportunity that Jon and Sansa could not give him.

“I think that’s marvelous,” said Sansa.

Mya smiled a secretive smile.

“There is a steward’s cottage on the estate, not quite so large as the Seaworth home, but it is a comfortable dwelling,” Randa said pointedly at Mya, “With room enough for babies.”

“I don’t know why you are looking at me so, Randa Royce,” Mya exclaimed with a laugh, though her cheeks were blushing, “I don’t see what I have to do with it!”

Randa chuckled, jovially, “You know very well what you have to do with it, so don’t be coy with me!”

“Well, you will have to ask Podrick yourself,” said Mya still grinning happily but holding her silence.

The carriage came to a halt at a crossroads to let another carriage with the right of way pass, Randa glanced out the little window and scowled.

“Bolton,” She gritted her teeth, “Do you know they bought shares in the bank?”

Alarm slammed through Sansa, “What? Varys’ bank?”

“No, the other, the Tyrosh Bank,” Randa said seriously, “The bank where a good majority of the parish does its business. Jon was wise to bank with Varys, as he will never cede control of his bank to the Bolton’s.”

“I did not know the Tyrosh Bank was selling shares,” Sansa said, though she truly knew little of such matters. She and Jon were business and farming people not bankers.

“They got into some trouble, and so they were forced to and that’s when the Bolton’s swooped in,” Randa explained, “I have since moved my assets to Varys’ bank, but a lot people hereabouts don’t want to bank with Varys’ because his operation is much smaller.”

Sansa glanced out the window to watch as the Bolton carriage bounced down the road and away to their estate. Blackwood Manor was much closer to the Bolton’s, that being its only drawback.

* * *

Changing from her work gown, after working with Cook on vittles for the Harvest festive, Sansa stood naked in front of her mirror, examining her growing belly. She had thought she felt a flutter earlier but decided it was her imagination. She had gotten quite a bit bigger over the last few weeks and could not decide how she felt about it. Naturally, she was happy that the babe was growing, but she did not want Jon to think her fat. Everything was bigger, her belly, her breasts, even her cheeks seemed fuller, and there were silvery lines on her belly that were not there before. She was not sure how she felt about all of these changes to her body. The bedroom door swung open and letting out a little yelp of surprise, Sansa snatched up her robe to cover her naked body.

“You didn’t knock!” She said accusatorily as Jon entered their room.

“I’m sorry,” He grinned that bewitching smile of his, “I didn’t realize I needed too.”

“Well for your information, I’m quite naked under this robe and needed a moment to cover up.”

Jon chuckled, “It’s not like I have not seen you quite naked before, leannan,” He said gruffly, coming over to her. He put his hands on her hips and knelt in front of her. He placed a kiss on her belly.

“Hello, wee one, it’s your Da,” He said, emotions making his accent thicker. Sansa smiled and brushed back a stray curl that had fallen in his face, he looked up and gave Sansa a teasing smirk, “Your Ma is cross with me so I thought I’d to talk to you instead.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes, “I am not cross!”

“Are you not, love?” Jon stood, still grinning and kissed her nose.

“I’d just like it if you knocked,” Sansa said.

He laughed and sat down on the bed.

“It’s not funny!”

“I’m sorry,” He was still laughing, “It just seems a funny thing to insist upon, considering…” He motioned between the two of them, “… well, considering I’m the one who put the babe inside you.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “And you are quite proud of that fact, are you?” She teased while turning up her nose.

Jon grabbed her by the hips and pulled her into his lap, “Aye, I am,” He kissed the back of her neck, “I’ve seen every inch of you, love, and I am always happy to see ye again.”

She blushed, and started to get up, not yet ready to relent. He held her firmly in his lap and continued to nibble at her neck.

“Are you going to let me go?” She asked, smiling, but feeling mild panic when his arms started to wrap around her much thicker waist.

“Not until I’ve had my way with ye,” Jon murmured.

Sansa stood up abruptly, nearly knocking Jon out when the back of her head smacked into his face. He looked up at her, looking wounded in more ways than one.

“I was just teasing you, love, you know I’d never…” Jon stammered, “Not if you didn’t want it…”

She felt tears prick the back of her eyes, “I know, I’m sorry,” Sansa wrang her hands together.

“We’ve not been together since the week we got back from Dragonstone,” Jon said, “I just miss you is all.”

Sansa gnawed her lip, feeling guilty that her insecurities regarding her growing body had kept her from receiving his affections, “I have not been feeling myself,” She said not sure how to explain the shyness that had come over her, regarding her body.

“That’s alright,” He stood and kissed her forehead, “All you need do is tell me, love.”

She kissed him quickly on the mouth, “Yes, of course.”

He nodded and stripped himself of his work shirt, she knew he had been out in the fields today working with the men.

“I’ve invited Sam and Gilly up for supper,” He said, “I hope that’s alright.”

“Yes, of course, they are always welcome,” Sansa said, coming over to him and slipping her arm around his waist and kissing his shoulder, trying to express that she was not trying to reject his amorous advances. He kissed the top of her head.

“I am sorry for not knocking,” Jon said.

“You don’t need to apologize, and you don’t need to knock,” Sansa said, “I was being foolish.”

He grinned at her, “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“It’s true, though,” She said looking down at the ground, “It’s just…” she searched for words… “My body it feels different…”

He studied her.

“It looks different…” She continued, searching for the words but knowing she was failing, “I just don’t feel myself.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Jon said, “I can wait, as long as you need, just so long as you tell me, so that I am not left guessing what is in your mind.”

Sansa nodded, feeling like she should, in fact, explain, but found herself too embarrassed to say the words.

* * *

Sansa jumped as Jon entered the parlor and slammed the door behind him.

“Roose Bolton is the new magistrate!” Jon exclaimed. He sat down across from her and rubbed his face. He looked tired and worn down. She knew he had been up to town to vote today, but no one yet had brought her word of the results.

“What did you expect to happen when no one worthy stood up to oppose him?” Sansa asked trying to be gentle but feared her words were biting.

Jon glared at her and for a moment she thought she had angered him. Perhaps she had? She looked back down at the book in her hands and frowned.

“Bolton has already scared off some potential investors for the wool venture, and now this,” Jon grumbled.

“You could have done something about it,” Sansa reminded him, his hesitance to stand for the magistrate seat was the very reason Roose was elected.

“I did not stand a chance, those old men don’t even trust me in a business investment, why would they elect me magistrate?”

“Because you are good and honest, and the Lord of Winterfell.”

Jon looked at his hands, “I’m not a Stark.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sansa said emphatically, “You do not give yourself enough credit.”

“And I think you may give me too much, I’m not your father, Sansa,” He said with a sad sigh.

The words stung a bit, she was not asking him to be Ned Stark, she was asking him to believe himself worthy of being the Lord of Winterfell.

Jon scrubbed a hand down his face, “One of our tenants has been accused of stealing… by a Frey no less.”

“What?” Sansa knew that with Roose as one of the magistrate’s justice would be slanted a certain way, but she did not expect it to happen so soon.

“That tenant just so happens to be from that stretch of land near the Glovers that someone mysteriously wanted to buy.”

“You think he’s doing it intentionally?” Sansa asked, though she knew the answer without him having to say.

“Aye, I think he is,” Jon huffed, “He intends to scare the tenants away because he knows I’d never sell it while tenants still lived there. I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

Sansa frowned, “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to go to the trial when it comes to hopefully speak some reason into those men,” Jon said, “Then if need be, I’ll confront Roose myself.”

Sansa would not stop him, but she did not like the idea of Jon going to the Bolton’s for a confrontation.

“Please be careful, Jon,” She pleaded.

He reached out and squeezed her knee, “I’ll be careful.”

“And if you go to see Bolton, please don’t go alone,” She added for good measure.

“I’ll take Tormund and Davos with me if it comes to that.”

“Are we never to be rid of our troubles with them?” She asked, taking his hand.

Jon sighed deeply, “I certainly hope so, but it seems we may have a long road ahead of us.”

* * *

Jon looked dashing when he descended the staircase in his kilt, and tartan sash. The harvest festival had arrived, and many of their guests were already awaiting them in the yard. There was a fire lit in the yard, and music and laughter could already be heard. Tonight, they would forget their troubles with Baelish and Bolton, and just be Jon and Sansa with their people.

“You look rather fetching, darling,” Sansa placed a peck on his lips.

“Thank you,” He put a hand on the small of her back, “You are a vision yourself, my highland princess.”

“Princess?” She teased, “You mean Queen?”

“Aye, my queen of the highlands,” Jon leaned close and nipped at her ear, “Had I a musical soul, I’d write a song about you.”

That made her laugh, “And would you sing it for me?”

“Aye, if I could.”

She touched his cheek and kissed him. A low rumble emanated from his chest, “Kissing me like that is dangerous.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve half a mind to throw you over my shoulder, and put you to bed,” Jon said gruffly, nuzzling his nose against hers.

Sansa leaned her forehead against his and smiled as she looked into his eyes, “Like the barbarian that you are?”

“Aye,” He chuckled, cradling her cheek in his palm.

She giggled, “Unfortunately, my Highland King our kingdom is waiting for us.”

“I suppose we should go and make merry with them?” He said.

She nodded.

“Tonight though…?” He asked hopefully.

She gnawed her lower lip and nodded. Touching his cheek affectionately, she hoped he felt at least some measure of the words she could not bring to her lips. She wanted to love him. She trusted his love but did not understand why she could not trust her own. His hand pulled her closer, until her belly was pressed up against him. His eyes slid closed for a moment as his forehead pressed to hers.

“You’re in my bones, leannan, a part of me, ye know? I don’t think I can ever do without you,” He whispered.

For a man who spoke so sparingly and claimed poetry was not in his soul, his words were beautiful and even more so for being unpracticed. He was a man of both heart and head… and so very easy to love.

* * *

The festival as Sansa had planned it was lovely and elegant in its simplicity. She wanted their tenants to feel at ease, and so they had all shared in the making of the meal. Some of the man had brought fiddles and were playing as others broke open a barrel of whiskey that Sansa had ordered specially ordered from a fine distillery in Oban. Podrick had even brought a set of bagpipes. She had not known he could play. Mya looked radiant on his arm, with a crown of autumn heather in her hair. The night air was crisp and everyone was in a celebratory mood. They had finished harvesting their crops and were getting ready to settle in for the winter months. Sansa would be entering her confinement near Christmas time. The thought of Christmas at Winterfell without her family was painful, but she was determined that she and Jon would enjoy Christmas together and look forward to the coming years when they had children of their own to lavish with love and Christmas joy.

“Our home will be a happy place at Christmas time, you’ll see,” Sansa whispered to her baby as she observed the crowd, “And I’ll give you a few brothers and sisters so that you need never be alone.”

Observing their kind tenants, who all had rallied to the idea of the harvest festival and all insisted on contributing food to the feast, she mourned the loss of Old Nan and Lyanna, but life as it always did after tragedy moved ever onward.

There was an abundance of Gaelic being spoken, which made Sansa smile. The common folk spoke Gaelic much more predominantly than the landed gentry. Some lords had become more English over the years since the Rising in 1746, after which the English had suppressed the clan system and the Scottish in general. The people, though, had never forgotten what it meant to be a Scot. Glancing across the yard, she saw Jon conversing with some of the men. Jon had not forgotten either, and he looked every bit like the chief of a Scottish clan of old. Men rallied to him, for he was a leader by nature. She was sad to know that he thought less of himself. He was no Bonnie Prince. As she looked at him, she was reminded of the ancient heroes, of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace, and of kings who led men into battle and won. His gentleness and patience often made her forget that before he was a farmer, he was a solider, he had killed men… perhaps that was why his gentleness spoke of such strength? He had killed men, and yet he chose to be gentle, chose to be kind. He had seen the horrors of war, and yet he chose to be a good and honest man. Had he been magistrate, he would have seen justice done.

“Your Da is a great man, though he does not think so himself,” Sansa whispered to the babe in her belly, “He will teach you to be the Lord of Winterfell and what it means to be Scottish and of the Highlands.”

Though she had no way of knowing, Sansa had grown convinced that she was carrying a boy. She had not shared this with anyone, not even Jon, but the babe was a boy, she felt it in her bones. So lost in thought was she, that she did not notice that Jon had approached her.

“Warm enough?” He asked.

“Aye, I am,” Sansa smiled, “Warm in both heart and body.”

He kissed her forehead, “Good. And happy?”

“Aye, I am happy, my darling,” She leaned against him.

He smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, “This was a splendid idea by the way.”

“T’was my mother and father’s custom,” Sansa explained.

“Everyone is happy to come together before winter sets in,” Jon said, “Gives them hope for the new year.”

She wrapped her arm about his waist and snuggled into his side, as they watched their people, “They’re happy and their bellies are full, at least for one night.”

“Aye, we will all sleep well tonight,” Jon said.

“Jon!” Randa’s voice cut into their conversation and they turned their heads to find, Randa, Sam, and Podrick approaching them.

“Randa, I am so happy you could come,” Sansa smiled.

“I am happy to be here,” said Randa, “Sam and Podrick and I have matters of business to discuss with the two of you.”

“Do you?” Jon chuckled.

“Yes, we do,” said Sam.

“I’ve heard word around town that you trying to start a small wool processing operation, but instead of opening a mill, you will be asking tenants to process the wool out of their homes,” Randa said.

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Podrick chimed in.

“Sam and I want to throw our support behind you,” Randa said.

“You want to invest?” Jon asked, “In me?”

The surprise in his eyes, made Sansa sad, she so badly wanted to show him how worthy he was of such support.

“Aye, yes, the wool venture,” Randa said, ever the unsentimental.

“Gilly and I have some money set aside, and we would like to be a part as well,” said Sam.

“I think there are others too who will rally, they just need to understand the method,” Randa continued, “All these old fashioned men hereabouts have always done the same for years and years and years, and they don’t always trust new business ventures, but I think once they see how successful we are they will want a piece of it too, if they do not want to invest then perhaps they will at least sell us their wool and we will process it for them and then sell it at a profit.”

“I want to give the common folk opportunity to invest in the operation as well, since they will be the ones processing the wool in their homes,” Jon replied, “So not only will they be gaining a wage, but if we do well, they will receive a margin of the profits as well.”

Podrick smiled proudly.

They continued to go on about the benefits to the common folk and the expectations of success, and Sansa could only smile as Jon’s face beamed. They were changing a traditional way of life, and they all knew it would be for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Sansa and Jon finally have some loving, and troubles with the Bolton's escalate now that Roose is magistrate (Jon POV)


	59. Kicks (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit, once again I felt like I could not quite get this chapter where I wanted it, but I hope everyone enjoys anyway! 
> 
> Also, I know I am not the best at delineating the passage of time in this story, but I hope it is evident that time is in fact passing. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for your lovely thoughtful comments! I love reading them, they make my day so much better!

“Jon,” a soft voice was trying to rouse him from sleep, “Jon,” it repeated. Jon rolled in the bed and touched Sansa’s side to find it cold.

“Jon?” Sansa was calling him.

He opened his eyes and found the room still dark and Sansa not in bed beside him but standing at the bedside with a candle and wrapped in a massive blanket.

“What is it, leannan?” He asked sleepily.

She was smiling brightly at him, and took his hand, giving him a little tug. He groaned.

“Come outside with me,” She said with a sort of childlike wonder.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Jon grumbled as he sat up on the side of the bed and blinked his eyes at his wife.

“I know it’s the middle the night, Jon Snow,” She said with a rather saucy shake of her head.

He grinned and rubbed his eyes.

She was all bundled in a blanket and her red locks were loose. Both dogs were standing behind her at the door, as if they had all been outside.

“What have you been doing up this late?” Jon asked.

“Come,” She reiterated.

Pulling on a shirt, Jon allowed himself to be led out of the room, but instead of going down the stairs, she tugged him by the hand toward the castle turret towards the battlements, where there was a balcony.

They opened the door to the balcony and that was when Jon saw it. The Northern Lights, bright and green and swirling overhead, and mixing in with the starry night sky. He saw another blanket spread across the ground, where she had obviously been watching the lights before she came and woke him. Jon smiled as she led him toward her blanket and sat down. He sat down beside her, and she offered him the other end of the massive blanket she had wrapped around her body. Snuggling into his side, she laid her head against his shoulder, as they looked up at the night sky.

“Isn’t it the most lovely thing you’ve ever seen?” She asked in wonder.

He looked at her and smiled, “Aye,” the lights could not always be seen in Scotland, but occasionally in the winter months if the night was clear, they were visible. Tonight was such a night.

“I’ve seen it before, but every time it takes my breath away,” She said, “We used to come up here as children and watch them when we could.”

“Is that what drew you out here so late?” Jon asked with a chuckle.

She looked at him, with a shy smile on her face that he could barely make out with the light from the candle and the night sky, “No.”

Jon looked at her, “Couldn’t sleep? Are you feeling well?”

“I’m quite well, Jon,” Sansa whispered, “I was woken up.”

“By what?”

She took his hand and placed it on her belly.

He was confused.

“Wait for a moment,” She whispered in reverent awe.

He waited, keeping his hand still, and then he startled when he felt a definitive kick. He put his other hand on her belly as well, and laughed, feeling tears spring to his eyes.

“I didn’t know…” He stammered, “Is that the babe?”

She giggled, “Yes, that’s your son…”

Jon furrowed his brow, “Does it hurt?”

“No, I thought it strange the first time, but not anymore,” Sansa giggled, “He’s happy, and healthy and eager to come out.”

Jon beamed, and wiped at his eyes.

Smiling, Sansa reached up and touched his cheek, “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed helplessly, “It’s just… that’s our babe… we made a child together…”

“Yes, we did,” Sansa said softly, covering his hand with her own, “And he is active and strong just like his Da.”

Jon chuckled, “And what makes you so sure she is not a girl?”

“I just have a feeling, I guess,” Sansa said resolutely.

“I think I’d like to have a little girl, with bonnie red hair like yours, and freckles across her nose,” Jon replied.

“Next time I’ll give you a girl,” She laughed.

“Perhaps there is one of each in here,” Jon suggested with a smirk.

She laughed almost nervously, but teased, “I told you in the beginning… one at a time.”

He chuckled and pulled her close, “Did you have freckles when you were a child?”

She laughed, “Yes, a fare few.”

The mental image that drew in his mind was adorable and so precious.

“Boy or girl, I am happy,” Jon whispered softly.

“As am I,” She kissed his neck.

Jon felt her shiver against him, “Let’s go inside, love, and get warm.”

She yawned, “But the lights…”

He grinned, “I know…”

Getting up, Jon lifted her from the ground and groaned when he realized she was a bit heavier than the last time he did such a thing. Their babe was certainly growing.

Throwing her arms around him, Sansa laughed against his neck, “Put me down, before you drop us, I’m too heavy…”

Jon chuckled sheepishly, “You’re not too heavy.”

She was still laughing, “Put me down, Jon Snow, or Cook will tan your hide in the morning.”

Jon could not help but laugh with her, “Do you plan to tell on me?”

“I most certainly do,” Sansa nipped at his neck.

Quietly, with his eyes locked on hers, he put her back on her feet, and then kissed her soundly. He would never get enough of kissing her.

When they broke for air, she took his hand and led him back down the turret stairs toward their bedroom. Jon was not sure what time it was but was not sure he was anywhere near ready to fall back asleep. It had been some time since they had made love together, had it been since that week back from Dragonstone? Jon could not remember. Sansa had grown increasingly tired during her pregnancy, often being sound asleep before he made it to bed, and he was not going to wake her. His desire for her, however, had only seemed to increase with the passing weeks. They reached their room, and Sansa softly padded over to the bed, and Jon watched her. She looked shy, in a way that he had not seen in quite some time in her.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” She asked, with a teasing smirk, that seemed to cover the odd shyness in her demeanor.

“Aye.”

She crawled onto the bed with the big blanket still wrapped around her and laid down. Laying down beside her, Jon studied her lovely face. He stroked a finger across her cheek. She offered him the other side of the blanket just as she had done on the balcony. Together they lay nestled under the massive blanket, with it pulled up nearly covering their heads. For a while they just stared at each other, drinking in the affection and acceptance in each other’s eyes. Jon had never experienced so much tenderness in his life as he had received from this woman.

Running his hand from her cheek, he caressed her jawline, and her soft neck, before touching her full breast over her flannel nightgown. Stroking a thumb over her nipple, he looked into her eyes to gauge her reaction. She had her lower lip between her teeth, and she was staring at him intently. Reaching out, she put her little hand on his chest, over the scar above his heart. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly, and he sank his hand into her hair, pulling her to him, deepening the kiss.

“Mo ghràidh, mo leannan,” Jon murmured.

“Biodh goal agad orm, Jon,” Sansa’s whispered Gaelic surprised him, “I’ve been practicing,” she giggled shyly.

Jon kissed her again, “My Highland Queen.”

“Love me, Jon,” She repeated, in English this time.

Nodding, Jon tried to pull off her nightgown, but she stayed his hand, only allowing him to draw it up to her hips. She had grown increasingly private about her body as her pregnancy had progressed and he was not sure why. Pressing kisses over her eyelids, and her cheeks, and her mouth, Jon looked into her eyes. They smiled at each other.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said… it was a simple thing to say, but it was true.

To his surprise, her eyes turned a little teary. He stroked her cheek.

“Why are you crying?” He asked, repeating her words to him from earlier.

“I’m not,” She whispered.

He chuckled, and wiped a tear away, “Tis no sin to cry.”

She nuzzled her face against his neck, and kissed his shoulder, and whispered, “I want you.”

“You have me,” He assured her, as he held her close.

Her belly between them prevented them from getting any closer, and Jon was not sure how to lay with her since she had grown much heavier with child since the last time they had been together… he did not want to hurt her or the babe.

Drawing her leg over his hip, he stroked that sacred place between her legs, feeling her warm and wet. Her seeking hands dipped lower until they found the laces of his breeches. Jon kept up his rhythm, trying not to make a mountain out of the sweet boldness of her fingers. He wanted her to always feel safe in touching him, and her touches were becoming more and more common as time passed. Even outside of the bed, she would stroke his hair, or put a hand on his arm, or rub his neck, but only rarely had she been bold enough to reach between his legs, as he did to her. When she gave him a firm stroke, he gasped and buried his nose in her hair.

“Sorry,” She murmured, apologetically, “Too hard?”

“No,” He said in a choked voice, “Your hands… they feel good.”

“So do yours,” She said.

He rubbed his nose against hers and nipped at her lips again. Gently, he scraped his teeth along her neck, while peppering it with open mouth kisses. Panting, her hands sunk into his hair.

“Are you a wolf now?” She asked with a somewhat breathless giggle.

“If I am, I am ravenous for you, my love,” Jon whispered, “May I have you?”

She nodded, pressing closer to him, “Yes.”

“Would you care to be astride me?” Jon asked, trying to sort out his dilemma of position. 

She looked rather surprisingly horrified at the suggestion and shook her head vigorously. Smiling, he kissed at her neck, and descended to suck at her breast. She moaned, her fingers clenching in his hair.

“I cannot be atop you,” Jon groaned, trying to maintain his composure, “I don’t want to hurt you or the babe.”

“Can we not like this?” She asked, as they still laid side by side.

“Can you turn on your other side?” Jon asked, touching her cheek, “Would you trust me to be behind you?”

Gnawing her lip once more, she smiled sweetly and nodded, turning to face away from him. She kept the blanket tucked around her body, making Jon unsure once more, why she had grown so shy with her naked body, but he did not question her, only curled his body around hers. His chest was pressed to her back. He lay his cheek against her hair and whispered into her ear.

“I love you, leannan,” He said. He wanted her to trust that his love was real and true, and so he had taken to saying it more often, in hopes that there was some form of healing in the words. She kissed his hand and clung to his arm that was wrapped around her.

After a few moments of maneuvering, and them both giggling sheepishly, Jon was finally able slide inside her, and he felt like he was returning home after a long absence. In unison, they released a breathless sigh. For a few moments, they lay there unmoving, savoring each other’s bodies and the intimacy they had cultivated between them. It was not a perfect intimacy, but it was beautiful and tender, nonetheless. Perfection did not make it beautiful, it was beautiful for having been tested, for being messy, and knocked around a bit, and yet still chosen and still longed for.

“Jon…” Sansa whimpered, gripping his hand. 

He lifted his head in concern trying to see her face, “Does it feel alright?”

“Yes,” She whined and pressed back against him, “Please…”

Holding tightly to her, he responded by thrusting forward, and making her gasp, “I’ve got you, my love.”

She giggled, and looked over her shoulder, “So you have.”

He kissed her shoulder, wishing her could look into her eyes. Sansa clutched his hand tightly as he rocked into her, in a languid rhythm.

“More, Jon,” came a breathless whisper.

The words surprised him, but he gave her more. One of his hands drifted to her belly, to cradle it, and he hoped he was not jostling the baby.

“More,” She whimpered with her face pressed into the pillow.

“The babe…” Jon started to protest.

Sansa moaned hard, “He’s fine…. Please Jon!”

He could feel her tightening around him as her breaths grew heavier.

“You’re close, love?” He asked, somewhat taken aback at how quickly they had arrived at this point.

“Yes!” She snapped almost aggressively. Reaching back, she twined her fingers into his hair, and Jon kissed her neck, and ear, and what he could reach of her cheek. She smelled so good.

It did not take very long for them both to come undone. With an almost startled wail, Sansa found her release, and Jon was swift to follow. He tightened his arms around her as they were both panting and coming back down. He stroked her side, hoping to be soothing, as she trembled in his arms and tried to catch her breath. The baby kicked in the precise spot where Jon’s hand rested over her womb, making them both laugh sheepishly in the aftermath.

“Jon Robert Snow,” Sansa whispered in the dark, “I want to name him Jon Robert Snow, and we can call him Robb for short, after my brother.”

“You want to name after me?” Jon asked in surprise.

She laughed softly and kissed his arm, “Of course I do, you’re his father.”

“Jon Robert Snow,” Jon tested the name on his tongue and decided he liked the sound, “But what if the babe is a girl?”

“He’s a boy,” Sansa said sleepily, yawning as the words fell.

“But what if…”

“He’s a boy, Jon,” she said emphatically and so Jon decided not to argue. Perhaps it was mother’s intuition? He held her close and watched her as she drifted back to sleep. Jon almost felt that the whole night had been a dream.

* * *

The trial for their tenant who had been in accused of stealing was inexcusably delayed. Jon managed to make sure the man’s family had everything they needed in the absence of income from their father’s job while he was being held on charges. A month had gone be since the arrest, long enough for the man’s family to be in dire need. The day of the trial, though, had finally arrived. Sansa straightened Jon’s cravat as she assisted him in getting ready to attend the trial.

“You best mind your temper at the trial, Jon, Roose does not have the only say, you must appeal to the other two magistrates,” Sansa instructed him.

“I don’t have a temper,” He protested.

She pursed her lips and looked at him but did not dignify his remark with a reply.

“I’ll mind my tongue,” He promised, “I’ll be diplomatic.”

She patted his chest, “I have full faith in you.

Jon kissed her, “Thank you.”

“I will go see if his family has any needs,” Sansa said.

Jon nodded, “In the carriage.”

She sighed, “Yes, Jon, in the carriage. I’ll have Tormund beside me the entire time.”

“Thank you,” He kissed her nose.

“Now go before you are late, and they deny you entrance,” She gave him a playful shove toward the door, and he was off.

* * *

The courtroom was already packed when Jon arrived, much to his surprise. Why so many people had shown up for a simple case of alleged theft, he could not surmise. Seeing one of the Lord Umber's sons across the room, Jon approached him.

“What’s going on?” Jon asked.

“Bolton and Frey insisted on moving the trial up, Manderly had no choice but to concede,” Umber explained, “The man has been convicted and sentence to five years hard labor in Australia.”

“What?” Red-hot anger shot through Jon.

“It’s done,” Umber said with a shrug.

“That’s outrageous!” Jon exclaimed.

“Well don’t tell me, you’ll have to take it up with them who did the sentencing,” said Umber, “You’re a good man, but I am afraid in cases such as these they are trying to make an example, so that others will not follow him.”

“Examples…” Jon gritted his teeth. Jon had been given a full accounting of the alleged crime by the constable and felt that there was very little evidence to actually convict the man, and even if there were evidence, five years hard labor was an extraordinary punishment for petty theft. He bid Umber good day and marched unceremoniously into the courtroom where a throng of people still milled about, and the three magistrates still sat speaking amongst themselves at the bench. Rage filled Jon. How could they sit there with ease of conscience when they had ruined, perhaps forever, the life of an innocent man?

“I’d have words with the magistrates!” He announced, nearly shouted, causing everyone in the room to go quiet and look at him.

“The trial is over, Lord Snow, a pity you could not make it,” Roose Bolton sneered.

“Why was the trial moved up without notice?” Jon demanded to know, “It is customary for a lord to be given the chance to speak on his tenant’s behalf!”

Roose seemed completely unphased by Jon’s anger, “The time of trials are our own prerogative,” He said, “The man was found guilty and sentenced, not even having a character witness as… passionate… as yourself would have saved him from the inevitable.”

“The inevitable that you decided upon before hearing the evidence no doubt,” Jon snapped.

“Are you questioning the integrity of this court?” Roose asked coolly.

“I question the integrity of any court that would allow an innocent man to languish away in a holding cell, while his family went hungry, just so that the trial could be conducted at their leisure,” Jon shouted.

“This court deemed him guilty,” the squirrely eyed Frey said.

“I heard you and your lady kept his family fed,” said Roose, “You care so well for your people.”

“And since when does petty theft warrant a sentence to Australia?”

“A sentence to Australia is not so bad a thing,” said Manderly, obviously trying to mediate, “He can even take his family and start a new life there if that is what he wants.”

“If this court allows innocent men to be convicted of crimes for the sake of power and control than you are no better than the yoke of the English,” Jon snapped, making the room release an audible gasp.

“Careful, Lord Snow,” Roose chuckled maliciously, “We would not want anyone thinking you are a rabble-rousing revolutionary.”

“And does he speak for the two of you?” Jon demanded from Frey and Manderly.

“No one speaks for us, Jon, but he is right in that your tone smacks of revolutionary sentiment,” Manderly said in a patronizing tone, “Jacobite sentiment is a thing of the past, and has no place among forward thinking men. It is our job to set an example for the common folk, and you would do well to do the same.”

Jon was ready to shout again when Roose snapped his fingers at the Bailiff.

“Bailiff, please escort Lord Snow out and ensure that he does not interrupt these proceedings any further,” said Roose.

The Bailiff put his hand on Jon’s arm, but Jon jerked it away.

“The three of you will pay for this,” Jon said simple, “If not in this life than the next.”

With that said, Jon stalked out of the courtroom.

* * *

By the time Jon returned home that evening, his beautiful Sansa was in the yard with the dogs singing a song in Gaelic about the Bonnie Prince. The sight made him smile, and he wondered if she knew she was singing a Jacobite song. Tormund taught it to her no doubt… He had once caught Tormund teaching her a rather scandalous Gaelic bar song, that Tormund had found quite funny, but Jon had not. Luckily, Sansa was smart and understood enough of the words that she had derived own amusement from humoring Tormund.

Sansa caught sight of him and smiled. She was more radiant than ever, if that were possible. There were a few months still before she gave birth, but she looked very heavy with child now. Jon thought she looked beautiful. She had her hair loose and he noted with a smile that she had his warm tartan sash wrapped around her like a shawl. She walked over to him.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said sweetly, indicating the tartan, “It’s just that it’s quite warm… and smells like you…”

Jon rubbed her arms, feeling weary, “I don’t mind.”

“The trial?” She asked, as he led her inside.

“They changed the time and so I was not able to speak in his defense,” Jon with a tired sigh.

“Can they do that?” She asked incredulously.

“Yes, it seems that they can, but I know it was Roose’s doing, he did not want me there,” Jon explained.

“And the sentence?”

“Aye, five years, hard labor in Australia.”

She gasped in shock at such a sentence for a petty crime.

“I’m weary,” Jon said, still stroking her arm.

“Come husband, let’s wash the day off of you,” Sansa tugged him toward their room. They passed by the nursery and Jon noted that the new drapes had been hung and though the room was still a work in progress, it was beginning to take shape.

They entered their room and Sansa explained that she had figured he would return sometime right before supper and so had already ordered a bath be brought up for him. Nothing he could do or say, could ease his conscience. Sansa had been gracious enough not to say, _“I told you so.”_ Still, he did not think he could have won the seat, Manderly’s words in the courtroom proved as much. He spoke to him like a green boy, who knew little about the world. Perhaps he was right? Still, did it make him a coward for not even trying to oppose Roose? Jon had no taste for politics and games, he just wanted to be here at Winterfell with Sansa and his sheep, but he also wanted to protect his people.

He was only vaguely aware of Sansa helping him undress until she had him down to his small clothes.

“Get in the tub,” She ordered, with a kind smile.

Jon obeyed, sinking into the warm water to chase away the chill in his bones. Sansa pulled a stool beside the tub and dipped a cloth into the water and began to help him wash.

“I’m sorry about the trial,” She said softly.

“It is what it is now, I suppose,” Jon conceded.

“We will have to be extra vigilant, and make sure our tenants do the same,” Sansa said as she swept the cloth over his shoulders, “Justice will be a slanted a certain way so long as Roose is magistrate.”

Jon wondered if he had disappointed her by not running for magistrate. He always had a lingering fear that he was a perpetual disappointment to those he cared about… sometimes the weight was so heavy that he felt the whole world was pressing upon his shoulders alone.

Jon took her hand and tugged her closer, “You should get in with me.”

“Are you saying I smell bad and need to bathe?” She teased.

Jon laughed, “You could never smell bad.”

Now it was her turn to laugh and roll her eyes.

“Please?” Jon pleaded.

Her cheeks turned pink and she stood up to retrieve the soap and oils for his hair, “There is not enough room in that tub for both of us with how big I’ve gotten.”

“Nonsense,” Jon huffed, “I want to relax with you before supper.”

“There is not enough room, Jon,” She said a little more emphatically, “And besides, I’m already dressed for supper.”

“I can help you redress,” Jon offered with a smirk, as he reached out and touched her knee, “Or maybe we need not get redressed at all.”

She came back with her supplies, and then dumped a bucket of water, that he had not seen beside the tub, over his head.

“Lean back so I can wash your hair,” She commanded while he sputtered water.

Chuckling, he took her hand to stay her, “You don’t need to wash my hair, I can do it…”

She brushed back some the wet locks that were plastered to his forehead, “I want to, I want to care for you… the way you always care for me.”

Her sweetness would be his undoing, “Very well then… are you going to dump another bucket of water over my head?”

“Not if you’re a good boy,” She said teasingly as she might say to Ghost.

When she began to massage soap into his scalp, Jon thought he might have died and gone to heaven. Her nimble fingers worked until he was melting into the tub.

“Can you sing for me?” He asked, letting his eyes slide closed.

“And what song would you have? Tormund's bawdy drinking song?” she asked with a chuckle.

Laughing, Jon looked up at her, “If that would please you, my lady.”

When she opened her mouth to sing, it was not the bawdy drinking song that came out of her mouth. Sansa began to sing a Celtic love song in Gaelic that took his breath away. He grew quiet, all teasing gone, as his eyes grew a little misty. There were days more acute than others where he longed to hear her tell him that she loved him. She said it in a million different ways in her actions every day, but never in words. For a while in the early days of his own love for her, Jon had wondered what is was that he was doing wrong that she found him so difficult to love. As time passed, however, he realized it was not him at all, that there was some deep part of her not yet healed that kept that little piece of herself from him. With that knowledge, He knew he could be patient with her, but still it did not stop the hurt that her reluctance to say the words occasionally caused him. He trusted that she loved him, her eyes said it, and her actions said it, but his own unhealed parts needed to hear it one day. Leaning into her hand as she continued to sing and massage his scalp, he wondered how it was that two such broken people had found their way to each other and had learned to be happy. They had healed each other in so many ways, and yet Jon knew that not all wounds could be healed by another person. He could empty out all of his love into her, and it still would not be enough to fix every broken place… she would still be wounded and he would just be empty… and so he would love her as best as he could and heal what he was able, and hold onto the hope that she would do the same for him… and together they would find their way. As much as he wished he could be, he knew he could not be her savior in all things, he could only offer to love her in all her forms.


	60. Various Unknowns (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter! I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for your encouraging comments. Life has been hard hitting recently, but writing helps, and your comments really do brighten my day, so thank you!

Sansa was laying curled up on the settee when Jon arrived home from his first meeting with Randa and Sam and other shareholders in the prospective wool milling venture. Jon slammed the front door closed causing Sansa to startle. She looked up at him. He looked decidedly angry as he strode into the parlor where Sansa and her aching hips lay.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Bolton is using his influence at the Tyrosh Bank to frighten potential shareholders away from our venture,” Jon said.

“Can he do that?” Sansa questioned, still laying still on the settee.

“Apparently so,” Jon raged, “We have enough to get started but I fear what will happen if others are frightened away… Roose Bolton is a bully…” Jon looked at her and suddenly seemed to realize the unmoving position she was in, “Are you alright?”

Sansa started to get up, she did not want him to think her lazy as she lounged about in the parlor this afternoon, “Yes… It’s just my hips, they have pained me today…”

He knelt in front of her, “Should I call for Sam?”

“No, no, don’t bother Sam, I’m just achy, Cook tells me that when she was with child her very bones ached… it’s just the babe growing.”

Jon smoothed back some of her hair and gave her a tender smile.

“I’m sorry,” He said.

She chuckled, “Whatever are you sorry for?”

“I just wish you did not have to suffer so much to bring a babe into the world,” He explained.

Reaching out, she touched his cheek, “This is the way of things if we want children.”

"I wish I could bear the suffering for you." 

“You want to bear our child?” Sansa laughed, “Perhaps the next one.”

Jon chuckled sheepishly and kissed her.

“You’re a good man, Jon Snow,” She whispered, wanting him to believe it, “The very best in the world.”

“You won’t be saying that when that bairn makes his grand entrance!” Cook declared as she strode into the parlor in time to hear Sansa’s words, “You’ll be cursing his name more like.”

Sansa and Jon exchanged smiles, and she laughed somewhat nervously. Young women of Sansa’s rank and social standing were kept sheltered from the realities of bearing children, and after seeing Gilly give birth, Sansa was duly alarmed.

“I just popped in to remind ye that the girl will be getting your supper tonight,” Cook informed them. Unlike many of their class, Sansa and Jon kept few live-in staff. They had Tormund, Cook and two unmarried chambermaids who lived at the castle with them. Jon was very private and did not care for having a horde of staff around them. Cook, a widow, who had been living at the castle since Jon took possession of it, had recently been spending most of her nights with her ailing mother, which meant that “the girl”, as Cook called one of their young live-in maids, occasionally had been preparing supper for them.

“How is your mother, Cook?" Sansa asked, sitting up in a more dignified position on the settee.

“Dr. Tarly says she’s not likely to walk again after such an apoplexy, but with me married daughter looking after her in the day and me looking after her in the night, we seem to be getting along fine.”

“You will tell us if you have needs?” Sansa urged, “It would not do for you to be looking after us when your mother needs you.”

“Aye, thank ye, I could not be more grateful to both of ye,” Cook said in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“You’re like family to us, Cook, I hope you know that,” Jon said.

Sansa stood and went to Cook and gave her a hug.

Cook sniffed as if she might cry, “Aye, ma’am, thank ye,” she said and patted Sansa’s bump affectionately, “I’ll be off then and do tell me if the girl burns your supper, I told her she’d have me to deal with if she did.”

Jon and Sansa both laughed and sent her on her way, having no intentions of reporting any burned supper. They would not dream of subjecting their poor maid to Cook’s wrath.

* * *

Blackwood Manor, while being nowhere near as ancient or large as Winterfell, was a lovely home, built in a Renaissance style. Jon had dropped Sansa off with Randa on his way to town and had told her quite firmly that he would return to pick her up and she was by no means to leave Blackwood Manor alone. She knew it was only a matter of time before he did not let her out of his sight. He already watched her like a hawk, and she had some time left before she gave birth. She was not even in her confinement yet. She and Randa took tea together while Randa had prattled on about the little changes she wished to make at the house now that it was hers.

“My father is thoroughly scandalized that I have purchased this place and gone into business for myself,” She chuckled, “But he will come around to the idea now that I am out of his hair, though I know he wishes I’d marry again.”

“Why is he so keen on you marrying?” Sansa asked curiously.

“Why, Sansa, surely you must know that it is a woman’s proper place to marry and bear children?” Randa said with a toss of her hair.

Sansa smiled and shook her head.

“He wants grandchildren I think, but I am afraid, he will have to look to one of my siblings for that undertaking,” Randa said with a chuckle but with a hint of sadness.

“You may yet meet a man you can tolerate and give him children,” Sansa encouraged.

“I’m not as young as I used to be, and I’m not likely to have children,” Randa said simply.

“You’re not that old, you are not very much older than me, and just because you and your late husband did not have children, doesn’t mean you can’t,” Sansa said, “Perhaps, it was his age that prevented… well, you know…”

Randa laughed heartily, “My dear, Sansa, I do find it quite amusing that you sit there quite heavy with Jon Snow’s child and you cannot speak plainly of such things.”

“It’s not exactly proper,” Sansa said with a blush and a roll of her eyes.

Randa poked her arm playfully, “I don’t imagine what you did to get that babe in your belly was exactly proper.”

Grinning, Sansa turned up her nose, to indicate that she had no comment on the matter, “Jon’s brother Aegon recently wed Lady Margaery Tyrell.”

Randa chuckled, accepting the change of subject, “Well, Lady Margaery is much more adventurous than I. I would not have put up with such a rake.”

“She has him well in hand, from what I understand,” Sansa said, though she was not quite sure she believed it, “For all his faults I do wish him some measure of happiness.”

Randa rolled her eyes playfully, “Men are not given to happiness and contentment.”

“Is anyone?” Sansa could say that for the first time in a very long time, she was, in fact, happy and content. She could not remember being quite so happy. She had always known that she wanted to be a mother and that having children was expected but having this baby with Jon had made her more happy than she had anticipated in the beginning.

“I’ll tell you who is certainly not happy and contented is Roose Bolton,” Randa said.

“Have they been troubling you?” Sansa asked in concern.

“Roose paid me a visit to inform me of my watering rights to the stream that separates my land from his, and he was rather surly about the matter,” Randa explained, “He seems to think the stream belongs to Dreadfort, but according to my deed it seems the stream is split down the middle, he seems to want me to think he is doing me a favor by allowing me to water my sheep in the stream.”

Sansa snorted derisively.

“I have half a mind to dig a few canals into my land, just to spite him, but I suppose that is not practical.”

Sansa laughed, “Perhaps not.”

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the door being hastily thrown open and a frantic maid with tears in her ears flew into the room.

“It’s Mr. Podrick, ma’am,” She cried out. Fear shot through Sansa as they both stood to follow the maid who was completely beside herself.

Sansa and Randa bolted outside behind the maid, and found Podrick Payne, newly appointed steward of Blackwood Manor, bleeding out from the shoulder in the courtyard.

“My god!” Sansa exclaimed fearfully.

“Call the carriage around!” Randa ordered the maid, and looked at the other shepherd, “What happened?”

“One of the sheep got across the stream to Bolton land, ma’am, Mr. Podrick went to fetch ‘em, and was shot for trespassing by one of Mr. Bolton’s lackeys.”

Kneeling, rather ungracefully, Sansa examined Podrick’s wound, “We need to get him to Sam as soon as possible. Bring cloth to pack off the wound!”

The other shepherd ran to do Sansa’s bidding.

“Pod can you hear me?” Sansa asked, but he only responded with a lower groan. He was so pale.

Randa’e own face had gone rather white, “Is he going to be alright?”

“I don’t know, Randa,” Sansa said gravelly, “We must get him to Sam quickly.”

* * *

The carriage was brought around and Randa’s small staff helped load Podrick into the carriage. Sansa and Randa got in as well as they plodded off in due haste toward Winterfell and the Tarly cottage. Much to everyone’s great relief, Sam was at home.

“What happened?” Gilly asked, coming to Sansa’s side. Gilly wrapped an arm around Sansa’s shoulder, seeming to sense she was somewhat shaken as they followed Sam and the carriage driver inside as they carried Pod.

“Roose Bolton shot him!” Randa fumed.

“One of Roose Bolton’s men though he was trespassing and shot him,” Sansa clarified.

Sam had already gone to work, and Sansa and Gilly assisted him. Sansa could not remember ever having seen so much blood. It was on her hands and seeping into the sleeves of her gown.

It seemed that hours had passed as Sam inspected, cleaned, and sutured the wound before covering it. Randa sat in the corner chewing a nail as she watched. Apparently, the bullet had passed clean through the shoulder and had missed vital organs. They could breathe easier at this pronouncement. Sansa stared somewhat dumbfounded at the blood on her hands, the blood of her friend. Suddenly the Tarly’s door was thrown open and Jon strode in, looking more angry than Sansa had ever seen him. His eyes were dark and stormy as he took in the scene before him.

“What happened?” He asked resolutely.

Randa explained and Jon’s anger was palpable. Coming over to Sansa, his eyes softened for a moment as he touched her cheek.

“Are you alright, love?”

“Yes,” She said softly as she looked down at the blood still on her hands.

Jon reached for the water and cloth that Gilly was offering them, and he began to wipe the blood from her hands.

“Is he going to be alright, Sam?” Jon growled as he continued his task.

“He has good prospects,” Sam said gravelly, “As long as no corruptions or blood poisoning set in.”

“Has Mya been called for?” Gilly asked in her kind and understanding way.

“I sent Tormund after her when he dropped me here,” said Jon.

“Should not be long then,” Sam said.

“Podrick will need caring for, he can’t be sent alone back to his cottage,” Gilly said, “At least for a few days.”

Sansa was about to offer to take him back to Winterfell, when Randa spoke up, “He can stay at Blackwood Manor, Mya as well, she can nurse him, and I will be their chaperone.”

Sam nodded, “Very well.”

* * *

Once Mya arrived, Jon, Sam, Sansa, Randa and Gilly stepped into the hallway to give them a moment of privacy.

“Bolton cannot continue to think he is above the law,” Jon said, “He needs to be held accountable for his actions, for Podrick.”

“If you confront him, you know he will just blame his man, and say that the man is at fault, or that Podrick should have known better than to have trespassed on enclosed land,” Sam replied.

Jon nearly growled, “According to the other shepherd, Podrick was only retrieving a wayward sheep that had wondered across the stream!”

“That will not hold up in a Bolton court of law,” said Sansa, somewhat bitterly. Such injustice would not have been stood for if Jon were magistrate.

Jon glared at her, anger making his eyes spark, “So you think we should just roll over and take it?”

Sansa frowned at him, “That is not what I am saying, Jon.”

She did not think she had ever seen him so angry.

“Who is going to stand up to him if we don’t?” Jon demanded to know.

“You had a chance to stand up to him, to do something about it, about all of this, but you chose not to!” Sansa snapped, and regretted it immediately.

The room fell silent.

She should not have spoken in such a way to him outside of their home, in front of their neighbors, this was a conversation for behind their closed doors.

Jon looked wounded but no less angry, “So you think this is all my fault?”

“No, Jon, that is not what I meant,” Sansa tried.

“Let’s go outside,” He said firmly.

Nodding, she followed him out, as their neighbors stood in the hallway looking decidedly uncomfortable. When it seemed he had decided that they were a sufficient distance from the house, he whirled around to face her.

“I know I’m not the man your father was, but I’d appreciate it if you kept your disappointment with me in our own home!”

Sansa flinched at his tone, and stung by his assumptions, “I am not disappointed in you, Jon,” She tried, “I just feel that you had an opportunity to do even more good than you already do in this community, and you let it pass.”

“I would never have been elected!”

“Good god, Jon, I feel like we have this argument over and over,” Sansa shouted, “You have so little faith in yourself, despite the faith that so many put in you! Including me!”

Jon just stared at her.

“I can’t force you to believe in your own value, but you are a man of worth, Jon Snow,” She said, “I just wish you’d start believing that, and acting like the Lord of Winterfell!”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, the amount of restraint he maintained always surprised her.

“Well, I’m sorry that I don’t meet your standards for the Lord of Winterfell,” Jon grumbled, “Perhaps you’d like the role?”

Frustration got the better of her, “Perhaps I would! I would not have passed a magistrate’s seat over!”

They glared at each other, head to head, as they both knew they had said things that they did not mean, but both still too angry to forgive them.

“I’m going to have a talk with Roose Bolton!” Jon hissed and turned away from her.

Sansa trotted after him and grabbed his arm.

“Jon, you can’t!” She insisted, which only seemed to make him angrier.

“And why not?”

“You promised me that if you ever confronted him would not go alone!”

The fire in his eyes softened for a moment as he looked at her, “I’ll take Davos with me.”

“Promise me!” Sansa demanded.

“I promise,” Jon said anger still evident in his voice, “Be sure Myranda takes you home in her carriage, I don’t want you walking out in this chill!”

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, “Fine,” She gritted her teeth, not taking kindly to being commanded.

“Promise me?” He retorted, echoing her own words back to her.

“I promise,” She huffed and watched as he stormed off in the direction of the carriage to go to the Seaworth home. She hated letting him leave with angry words left between them, but she was still angry herself and he was so blasted stubborn. She had never met anyone who could rile her so.

* * *

Jon was not home by supper time that night, nor by bedtime and Sansa began to worry, though she knew if something had happened to him, Tormund would have brought her word. She had to go to bed trusting that fact. She did not know when he came home, all she knew is that when she woke the next morning, he was in bed beside her, studying her as she slept. When he noticed that she was awake, he gave her a tender, lopsided smile.

“Good morning,” He said softly, almost shyly.

Sansa turned onto her other side to face him, “Good morning.”

“I am sorry for my anger yesterday, it should not have been directed at you,” He said.

Sansa wrapped her arm around his middle, “I’m sorry too, I should not have been so harsh, or spoken so freely in front of our friends.”

“Forgive me?” He pleaded.

“Aye, I forgive you,” Sansa snuggled closer, “Forgive me?”

“I do,” He put his arm around her and stroked her back.

She laid her head against his chest, “When did you come home?”

“It was late, I did not want to wake you.”

“And your talk with Roose?” Sansa asked.

Jon sighed, “Wholly unproductive.”

“I’m sorry,” She said.

He kneaded his fingers against her scalp, “You were right, I should have at least tried to stand against him in the election, especially when no one else would.”

Sansa did not say anything, she knew she did not need to make him feel worse than she had yesterday. They had said their piece and forgave each other, she would not drag him through it again.

“He’s a vile man, who has taken leave of his morality and human decency,” Jon said, “And his son is worse.”

“Was his son there?”

“Aye,” Jon said thoughtfully, “And the son is worse than the father.”

“They will get what is coming to them,” Sansa said, though she was not sure that was how life truly worked. Often life dealt horrors to good people, while the wicked roamed free. The Boltons and her own father were evidence of this cruel fact.

A knock sounded on their door.

“Come in,” Jon called, since they were both clothed even though they were still abed.

Their maid brought a letter to Jon, “From Dr. Tarly, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Jon, as they made scurried away, blushing brightly at finding her lord and lady still abed.

Sansa watched Jon as he opened the message. His brow furrowed.

“What is it, Jon? Is it Podrick?” Sansa sat up, alarmed.

“Sam was called out to the Dreadfort, early this morning,” Jon said and handed Sansa the letter. When she read its contents, she could not quite believe her eyes. She looked at Jon, searching for some type of explanation.

She read the words aloud, as if needing to hear them to know that they were in fact true, “Roose Bolton is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side Note: I know poor Podrick seems to get beat up a lot in this story, for which I am sorry, but he will have a happy ending, I promise!


	61. Letters (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry its been like a thousand years since I updated! This month has been super busy and the remainder of the year does not look to be much better. I will update as I can. Here is the next little bit, getting back into the swing of this story and preparing for the home stretch. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments and for being patient with me!

Jon and Sam had been behind closed doors for hours. Jon had said very little about Roose’s death, and left Sansa to wonder. She supposed it was consequence of being female, that she was not privy to full disclosure of all the facts until her husband deemed it necessary. She knew Jon did not think that way, but she was frustrated that he had said so little especially since Roose’s death was deemed a murder. Sansa had listened at the door once during one of these conferences with Sam and was caught out by Cook who only shook her head. Sansa had given up eavesdropping after that. A couple of weeks had passed and there was still no pronouncement on who had killed Roose Bolton. Jon and Davos had been some of the last individuals to see him alive in the community, and Sansa knew that could possibly cast dispersions on them.

So fretful was she that she accidentally stabbed herself with her sewing needle for lack of attention, as she sat with Randa, and Gilly, and the Tarly children in the parlor.

“Perhaps it was his wife?” Randa speculated, with a rather malicious grin, “I’d contemplate murder if I were married to such a vile man.”

Gilly giggled and rolled her eyes.

“Do you really think that poor Walda Frey Bolton, was capable of murdering Roose Bolton?” Sansa asked, skeptically. She did not know Walda Bolton well, but the plump, skittish woman seemed hardly clever enough to orchestrate a murder and hide it for weeks.

“If she were driven to it, and quite frankly I would not blame her, nor do I think would the good Lord,” Randa chortled.

Gilly gasped, but there was a laugh in her eyes, “I do believe, Myranda Royce, that that is a heretical statement.”

“Tisn’t my fault if I’m full of heathen whims, we have not had a proper cleric in these parts in years.”

“Well maybe its high time we find one,” Sansa teased.

“Not likely,” Randa said with a toss of her hair, “All clerics these days have more interest in food and coin than in the saving of immortal souls.”

Sansa laughed and rolled her eyes at Randa, as she often did.

“Has Jon completely forbade you from roaming the countryside?” Randa asked changing the subject, as she was prone to do, “The poor dear frets over you something terrible.”

Sansa had to smile, as much as it rankled her sometimes, she knew Jon’s protectiveness was born from love and care. Yesterday, however, he had asked if she needed help down the stairs and she had nearly smacked him upside the head.

“He doesn’t like me roaming about on foot, but I would not say he exactly forbade me,” Sansa clarified, though she knew if she were to trek across country he would be angry, “I think he worries his baby will be born in a field.”

Randa and Gilly laughed.

“Not that I know anything about birthing babies, but I imagine in this chill that a bed would definitely be preferable to a field,” said Randa.

“Have you attended any births, Randa?” Gilly asked, making pleasant, polite conversation that often escaped Randa.

“Lord no,” Randa laughed, “I do believe Sansa is the only friend I’ve known while with child.”

“Well, you may attend my birth, if you wish, Randa,” Sansa offered.

“So that I may stand in the back of the room and heckle you?” Randa asked with a teasing grin.

“Seeing a birth can be a life changing experience,” said sweet Gilly.

“Or a scarring one,” Randa retorted, “There’s a reason they don’t let young women attend births… humanity would end.”

Sansa laughingly shook her head, never sure what to do with Randa.

“The mail, ma’am!” came Tormund’s bellowing voice from the doorway.

Sansa turned, and started to get up to retrieve the mail but Tormund quickly brought it to her.

“Thank you, Tormund,” Sansa said with a smile.

“Good lord, what are you doing you lumbering oaf!” Cook exclaimed from the doorway, “You shouldn’t be interrupting the miss’us when she is entertaining company!”

“I was only delivering the letters, ye wee wench!” Tormund laughed, as the women exchanged amused glances, while Cook chased Tormund from the parlor.

Looking down at the letters in her hand, she noted that most of them were for Jon, but two of them had her name on them… and both gave her unease. One was in the scrawling hand of her Petyr Baelish, and the other was from Jeyne Poole. As the other ladies continued with their sewing, Sansa opened the letter from Baelish first. She frowned… he was coming north again to support his “dear” Bolton friends in this time of loss. She did not like the collusion between Baelish and the Boltons. Baelish always had a hidden motive for everything he did, and if Mrs. Bolton did not have murderous impulses, Petyr Baelish certainly did. She could not shake the feeling that Baelish had done something to her aunt. Aunt Lysa had been supremely foolish to leave little Robin in his care. There were nights Sansa was still haunted by Petyr Baelish’s leering eyes and grasping hands.

Putting the letter back in the envelope, she opened the one from Jeyne Poole. It was an invitation to tea at the Poole Mansion… Sansa did not think that the Tarth’s would have returned to the North so soon. Brienne Tarth had agreed that Jeyne needed space from Ramsey Bolton. What were they doing back so soon?

“You look troubled, Sansa, are you well?” Gilly asked.

“Yes, I am well, thank you,” Sansa replied plastering on a smile, “The babe just makes me weary at times.”

“The weariness only gets worse,” Gilly warned with a gentle grin.

Randa snorted, “Do the horrors ever end? What propels women to keep producing children?”

Sansa and Gilly both laughed at that. 

“Perhaps you should marry again, and find out for yourself?” Gilly suggested with a smirk.

“I think not.”

“Randa, had you heard anything of Jeyne Poole returning to Scotland?” Sansa asked changing the subject.

Randa huffed, “I should think not, the last I heard, the Tarth’s had the disingenuous, little dear locked away until she comes of age to inherit, and hopefully they will marry her off to someone before she has the opportunity to make her own choice.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. How did Jeyne come by being back at the Poole Mansion? Frowning she stuffed the letter in her pocket for further study after the departure of her guests.

* * *

Late that night, with the dogs on her heels, Sansa found Jon in their study, predictably brooding over his ledgers. Sansa came to the desk and shut the book. He looked up at her.

“The workday is over,” She said sweetly as she massaged the back of his neck. He smiled and rubbed her hip. He looked tired.

“Aye.”

“Has there been any progress on Bolton’s killer?”

“None that I am aware, they are questioning the staff first,” Jon said, “But I’m sure there are plenty in this community who have motive.”

“Including you?” Sansa asked nervously.

“I will not lie to you,” Jon said seriously, “It was suggested, but thus far the investigations have been slow.”

Sansa gnawed her lower lip and nodded, “I received a letter today from Baelish,” she said, “He’s coming North to be of help to the Bolton’s.”

“He will not be welcome at Winterfell, I assure you.”

“Thank you,” She kissed his forehead.

“I received a letter today from Dany,” Jon sighed deeply, “It seems she will be dragging our family name through the mud…”

“What happened?”

“Drogo has accused her of infidelity and is threatening to put Dany aside and disinherit Rhaella.”

“He would divorce her on rumors?”

“The problem is, I’m not entirely sure it is a rumor.”

Sansa had suspected as much during their visit, “What is she going to do?”

“She doesn’t know yet,” Jon said, “She won’t return to Viserys, so I suppose she will go to Aegon and Margaery if they will have her.”

“What of the baby’s real father?”

“Apparently, Daario has challenged Drogo to a dual for the sake of Dany’s honor, though neither Dany nor Daario have confirmed that he is Rhaella’s father.”

“He could die.”

“Yes, apparently, he has a dramatic flair,” Jon sighed.

“If Dany needs a place to stay, or at least a place to keep Rhaella safe they could always come here,” Sansa offered. Jon’s family was complicated and strange, but they were family still.

“Thank you, my love, but Dany is used to the city, being near Edinburgh, I don’t think she would thrive here,” Jon replied, then he chuckled, “Besides, we don’t want to run the risk of not being able to get rid of her.”

Sansa smiled and nudged him so that she could sit down in his lap. He happily welcomed her. He put his hand on her swollen belly and she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” He asked.

“Yes, I just wanted you to hold me,” She whispered shyly against his neck. She could feel his smile when he kissed her hair.

“How’s our baby today?”

Sansa could feel the babe moving inside her, “I think he likes the sound of your voice.”

Jon grinned like a little boy at that thought.

“I also received a letter from Jeyne Poole today,” Sansa said, still baffled over the contents of the letter. In truth, she felt a measure of pity for Jeyne Poole, and though Jeyne was a foolish girl, Sansa did wish her happiness.

“Oh?”

“She invited me to tea tomorrow.”

“She’s back north?” Jon asked incredulously.

“Apparently, I had not heard that they were returning to the north so soon.”

“Nor I,” Jon said, as he stroked his hand up and down her back, “It does not seem wise.”

“I’ve naught much to do tomorrow, so I suppose I will go.”

“I don’t think that you should,” Jon stated firmly.

Sansa sat up and looked at him, “Why ever not?”

“It seems rather untoward; something does not feel right about it.”

“She’s just a lonely girl, Jon, I think right now, with the loss of her father and being taken south, she feels a sort of twisted kinship with me,” Sansa explained.

“Still, I’d rather you did not.”

“What if she needs a listening ear? Or what if the Tarth’s are being cruel to her?” Sansa said.

“There is no evidence of either,” Jon said, “I find it strange that she is back north, and no one has seen her or the Tarth’s or even heard of their arrival.”

“Jon…”

“I’m just trying to protect you, Sansa,” He snapped.

“You treat me like I’m some sort of delicate flower…”

“You are precious to me,” He cupped her cheeks in his hands, “My mother died in childbirth, Sansa, I would never forgive myself… I could not bare to lose you…”

“Childbearing is dangerous, Jon,” Sansa said firmly, shelving their discussion of Jeyne for the moment, “But it’s a part of life, and I don’t want fear to hinder us from making a family together.”

Jon stroked her cheek, “I know…”

“And I need to know that if something did happen to me, that you’d carry on…”

“Sansa…” He looked pained.

“I need to know,” Sansa insisted.

Jon nodded.

“And if I died and the baby lived…”

“I will always be there for our children, my love, I promise,” Jon assured her with a profound sadness in his eyes.

Sansa nodded and laid her head back against his shoulder and kissed his neck, “You will be the best Papa for our babies, better than I could have ever dreamed.”

“Well, Mama, may I carry you to bed?” Jon asked with a sweet smile.

“You may walk me to bed,” Sansa giggled, as big as she had gotten, he had no business carrying her anywhere.

Hand in hand they left the study and returned to their room. She always thought of it as their room now and marveled at how far their marriage had come in such a short time. Remembering the night they consummated their marriage, she blushed to remember how truly frightened she had been and melted to remember Jon’s tenderness.

“What are you thinking of?” Jon asked, as he pulled back the blankets for them.

“The night we consummated our marriage,” Sansa confessed bashfully.

He chuckled, “You make it sound so official.”

“It was rather official, it was the night you made me truly your wife,” Sansa grinned, as she unbraided her hair and sat down on the bed beside him.

“And I distinctly remember you hiding from me in the barn the morning after,” Jon teased.

Sansa blushed, “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

“Aye, you did,” Jon chuckled and pulled her into his embrace as they lay down together, “I thought I had frightened you off for good.”

Sansa snorted playfully, “Yes, your kisses were wholly terrifying.”

Jon kissed her neck, “It wasn’t my kisses, that I thought had frightened you.”

Sansa laughed, feeling her cheeks turn red, “Are you gloating about your assets?”

Jon threw back his head and laughed then, “My assets? You’re always so proper…”

She frowned and looked back at him, feeling suddenly insecure, “Is that a bad thing?”

He kissed her nose, “No, love, it’s not a bad thing.”

He pressed up closer to her and she could feel his _“asset”_ against her bottom. A shiver ran through her, and she let herself relax back into his arms. He was so kind… the kindest man she had ever known… Sansa stroked his hand. When they woke this morning, she had wanted him inside her, and she felt wholly wanton, but she wanted him again right now. She was not sure what had come over her… it was not that she did not enjoy their intimacy before… but over the last few days it seemed that she craved him. If he knew some the thoughts she had had about him all day, he would not think her so proper. Having grown rather still, it seemed he was either asleep or very nearly, and she closed her eyes, irrationally irritable that he could sleep when her body seemed to be singing for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Sansa makes a questionable choice


	62. A Threat (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Thanks for reading and for your lovely comments!

“Oooo,” Sansa moaned, turning her face into the pillow. Jon was wrapped around her, with one hand massaging a very full breast, and the other stroking her hair, as he thrust firmly inside her. His mouth peppered her neck and shoulder with kisses.

“You’re so beautiful like this, love,” He grunted in her ear, as one hand drifted down to her belly.

Sansa whimpered, and tried not to let her wretched emotions get the better of her. She had felt so unattractive over the last months, as she had gotten so big. She never took off her nightgown anymore, and she wondered if it bothered him, or if he knew how she felt.

“I love seeing you with my babe inside you,” He continued, still dropping kisses on her neck, “You’re radiant and glowing.”

Sansa grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, as she tried to control her undignified breathing… she did not want to sound like an animal in heat.

“After this one, we will have another,” He whispered, “And another…”

Sansa giggled and nodded, ever since he had gotten her with child, he could turn positively feral in their bed. She wondered if all men felt so very proud about getting their wives with child, as Jon seemed. Obviously, they both had fears about bringing children into the world together, Jon had confessed as much only yesterday. Jon feared losing her, and Sansa feared the birthing itself, but they wanted to build a family to fill Winterfell with laughter again and they were well on their way. Whatever fears they had, they could face them together.

“I’m close,” Jon groaned.

“Yes,” Sansa moaned, and her whole body jolted when he reached between her legs to help her along.

He chuckled in her ear, “Does that feel good, Leannan?”

“Yes,” she whispered breathless.

He held her close as they both came, whispering sweet words in her ear about how much he loved her and desired her and how precious she was. Smiling, she snuggled back against him, even though she knew that he needed to get up and go to town. She may be wholly wanton, but over the last few days, she had been insatiable for him. She did not know why, or if she could ever tell him such a thing.

When they caught their breath and he was done kissing her, he seemed very fond of kissing her, Jon rose to get dressed for the day and Sansa watched him lazily from the bed, smiling as she covertly studied his nice backside and corded muscles, and his beautiful curls. He glanced over his shoulder catching her looking and she turned her face away and had to stifle a giggle. He grinned and continued on about his business. When he was finished getting dressed, he returned to the bed and leaned over her and kissed her forehead.

“I’m not sure what time I will be back, but if supper is on the table do not wait for me,” He instructed.

She nodded.

He smoothed back her hair and kissed her forehead again, “I love you.”

She thought the words were actually going to fall from her mouth, but he straightened quickly and headed to the door before the words could form. Though it was not ladylike, she cursed herself. What was she so afraid of that those words could not seem to escape? She loved him, or at least was beginning too, who would it hurt to let him know? She thought it might make him happy, and she wanted to make him happy… wanted to see him smile. Sansa sighed, and dragged herself from bed once Jon disappeared.

* * *

“You’ve certainly got rosy cheeks this morning, ma’am,” Cook said with a grin as Sansa entered the kitchen.

“Do I?” Sansa asked with a chuckle.

“Indeed,” Cook replied with a cheeky smile, “And the master had a rather smug grin upon his face as he left.”

Sansa laughed, “We’re rather happy together, I suppose.”

“Me and my late husband, when we were your age, were so madly in love that we could barely keep our hands off each other,” chortled Cook.

Sansa blushed furiously, as she shut the cookie jar in which she had had her hand.

“Especially when I was with our first child,” Cook said in that nostalgic way that older people often spoke of their youth.

“You, um, wanted your husband’s attentions more often when you were with child?” Sansa asked, trying to be delicate, but her curiosity was piqued.

“Aye,” Cook laughed.

“Is that…” Sansa searched for the words, “Is that… common?”

“For some, I think.”

Nodding, Sansa took another cookie from the jar and headed out of the kitchen.

First, she finished arranging a few items in the nursery before going to work on the household accounts. When she was finished with the household accounts, Sansa wandered around the great house, recalling her childhood, and smiling to remember her mother and father, living and loving within these walls. They had a good life here, built a good life together. Sansa missed them immensely, and wished they were still here to meet their grandchild. Her father would have been proud of Jon, she knew, and she wished they could have been a part of her life here, even though logically she knew circumstances would have been different if her whole family was alive. Still, she wished and dreamed that they could hold their grandchild and know Jon, and for him to be their son, and show him how worthy of love he truly was. Sighing, Sansa sat in Jon’s big chair in the study, and eyed the invitation from Jeyne Poole which was still sitting there from the night before. If Sansa left now, she could go to the Poole estate and be back well before supper time. Jon did not want her to go though, and yet she could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong with the whole situation. She knew when she had been at the mercy of the Baratheons and her Aunt Lysa, she dreamed of having someone who could have come and rescued her. In a sense that is what Jon did for her, but it had been years of abuse later. What if the Tarth’s were being cruel to Jeyne? What if Jeyne was simply a lonely girl missing her father? Sansa paced the study mulling over these things. Jon did not forbid her from going exactly. Why could she not go and at least check on the girl?

* * *

What Jon did not know could not hurt him… or at least that is what Sansa told herself as she struck out on her own toward the Poole estate. The walk was not long and so Jon could not be angry about her walking… or at least that is what Sansa told herself. Shoving down the voice in her head that told her that what she was doing was wrong, and that Jon would, in fact, be angry, Sansa kept going. Jeyne was a foolish girl, but Sansa could not ignore her anxiety over her invitation. What if Jeyne was being mistreated by the Tarth’s? What if she was merely lonely… missing her father? Sansa understood that sentiment all too well, and her heart went out to her. No one deserved to be so utterly alone in the world. Why could Jon not understand that? Walking along the road, she enjoyed the cold winter air. There had been a light snow last night, dusting the earth in powder. Everything was lovely and clean and fresh, and Sansa was happy to be outside. She would go into her confinement soon, at which point she would not be allowed to leave the house until the babe was born, and so she savored the fresh air and the trees.

“I thought you were not to be out walking, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa looked up from the road to see Mya Stone walking down the lane as well.

“I’m just taking a stroll,” Sansa said, “Jeyne Poole invited me up to the Poole Estate for tea.”

Mya frowned, “Really? I thought the Poole’s had left?”

“After Mr. Poole died, Jeyne Poole was taken to south by her guardians, but it seems they are back,” Sansa explained.

“Seems strange, I walk this road most days, and I have not seen any carriages going to and from the Poole estate.”

“It does seem rather sudden,” Sansa agreed, she had to admit that the whole situation seemed rather odd, but she had to know for sure.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Mya asked.

“Oh no, Mya, I know you have work to do and things to take care of, I don’t want to hold you up,” said Sansa.

Mya gnawed on her lower lip for a moment before nodding.

“How’s Podrick?” Sansa changed the subject.

“He’s recovering nicely,” Mya blushed, “And is mostly on his feet again.”

Sansa smiled, “I’m so happy to hear that. Will you continue to stay at Blackwood?”

“Yes,” Mya grinned from ear to ear, “Podrick has asked for my hand.”

“Oh, Mya, I’m so pleased!” Sansa threw her arms around the girl, “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

“Thank you, and I hope you and Lord Jon will come to the wedding?”

“Of course, we will,” Sansa beamed at her friend, “We could not be happier for the two of you.”

“Thank you,” Mya looked hesitant for a moment before adding, “Does Lord Jon know that you are visiting Jeyne Poole? I thought the Poole’s and the Snows were not so very amenable?”

Sansa frowned, “We wish no ill will on Jeyne,” She knew that she did not exactly answer the question.

Mya nodded, “Well, as you say, I have work to attend. Take care!”

“I will,” Sansa said as she watched her friend scurry off, and she continued on toward the Poole Estate, as it was not so far now.

* * *

There was not much activity in the Poole courtyard when Sansa arrived, which was odd. If the family had taken up residence again why were there no servants or stable hands? She approached the house and knocked. Taken aback was she when Jeyne Poole herself threw open the door.

“Oh, Lady Sansa! How happy I am too see you!” She threw her arms around Sansa.

Sansa hugged her back, awkwardly, “I am pleased to see you as well, Jeyne, though I had not thought to see you again so soon.”

“Come in, come in,” Jeyne invited.

Sansa followed her inside, and Sansa was surprised to see that in the entryway if the house, all of the furniture was still covered in white sheets. Sansa glanced at Jeyne who seemed unperturbed by this, as she led her to a sitting room. The sitting room was uncovered and, on the table, sat a tray of tea.

“I’m so happy you came,” Jeyne said as she invited Sansa to sit, “I have been so desirous of female companionship.”

“Is Lady Brienne not female companionship for you?”

Jeyne sniffed derisively but did not respond as she poured some tea for Sansa and herself.

Sansa sipped the cup and glanced around the room, trying to ascertain what was going on here. Jeyne began to prattle on about her trip South and how very much she loved Scotland and was happy to be home. She peppered Sansa with questions about society and about their lives of those acquaintances in their social circles, to the point where Sansa was not sure how much time had passed.

“How came you to be back in the North so suddenly?” Sansa finally interjected, finally having enough of Jeyne’s mindless prattle.

“I’m not English, and I very well had enough of England,” said Jeyne.

“And so, the Tarth’s brought you home?”

“I decided to leave the Tarth’s.”

“What do you mean you decided to leave the Tarth’s?”

“I wanted to come home, and I am bloody well old enough to decide what is good for me,” Jeyne huffed.

“So, you left them?” the pieces were beginning to fall into place in Sansa’s mind, “You ran away?”

“I decided to take my fate into my own hands.”

“Jeyne, how could you…”

“How could I what?”

“Were the Tarth’s unkind to you?”

“Is it not an unkindness to take someone so far from their home with no choices available to them?”

Sansa stood, “Jeyne, you cannot run away from the Tarth’s, they’re your family now.”

“They are not my family!” Jeyne hissed.

“Do you want to be all alone here?” Sansa tried a differed tact.

“I am not alone,” she retorted more calmly.

“What do you mean?”

“My dear Ramsey and I intend to be married. And I had hoped to enlist your help.”

Sansa was floored. How could this girl be so utterly stupid? “You cannot marry Ramsey Bolton!”

Jeyne huffed, “Now you sound like Brienne.”

“Brienne is obviously much wiser than you.”

Jeyne stood and so did Sansa, “I thought you would have more understanding, Sansa, considering your past, and the injustices done to you by your guardians after your father died, I thought surely you would understand that I just wanted to be home with the man I loved!”

“Ramsey Bolton is a monster, Jeyne Poole, you cannot marry him!” Sansa nearly shouted.

“You have bought into all the lies and gossip that circulate in this town, my sweet Ramsey loves me!”

Sansa shuddered, “He has raped and very well may have murdered his own father!”

“Nonsense!”

“Jeyne, you are being a fool!”

Jeyne turned her back on Sansa, “I think I should like it if you leave.”

“Fine, but I will have you know that I will be writing to your guardians.”

“Do you what you must, but by the time they get here, there will be nothing they can do to prevent my wedding to Ramsey,” Jeyne said sharply.

“What is going on here?” Ramsey Bolton’s voice coming from the doorway sent chills down Sansa’s spine.

“Lady Snow was just leaving!” Jeyne snarled.

Sansa plucking up her courage, made for the only exit, where Ramsey stood in her path, “Indeed, I am!”

“I will see you out,” Ramsey said, sounding much too cordial to be genuine.

“I will see myself out,” Sansa growled but was very much dismayed when Ramsey followed her. She tried to walk faster, but he was on her tail.

Once in the courtyard, Ramsey grabbed her arm roughly. Sansa whirled around and glared at him.

“You will unhand me, sir, or my husband will see to it that you no longer have hands!” She hissed, with more gusto than she felt, as she was keenly aware that Jon did not know where she was.

Ramsey laughed maniacally, and held up his hands in mock defeat, “I very much doubt your delicate Lord Snow would have the guts to relieve me of my hands.”

“You know nothing of Jon!” Sansa shouted.

Ramsey only looked at her as if he knew a secret that she did not, “I did not mean to offend, Lady Snow,” He said with a snarl, “I only wish to inform you that Jeyne Poole and I intend to marry, and you cannot stop us.”

“I can!”

“Jeyne has certainly been foolish, I told her not to invite anyone up here, if she wanted our plans to proceed, but she is very eager for company,” Ramsay said, “I hope you would not be foolish enough to write to the Tarth’s.”

“I will do as I see fit,” Sansa said defiantly.

“As you seem to be aware, Lady Snow,” Ramsey began softly, “I am capable of a great many things…”

Sansa took a step back from him, but he caught her arm again.

“Ramsey!” Jeyne called in distress from the doorway of the house.

Ramsey villainous smile was immediately replaced by the docile façade he wore for Jeyne’s sake. Before he turned back to the house, he leered at Sansa.

“If you even think of writing to the Tarth’s, I will make you and your husband pay dearly for it,” Ramsey promised under his breath, so that Jeyne could not make out his words, “Maybe not today, but one day. Mark my words.”

He turned away from Sansa and strode back to the front of the Poole estate. Sansa quickly made her escape before he changed his mind, castigating herself for being foolhardy. Jeyne was a foolish girl and it seemed that she was determined to remain in her foolishness. Sansa, though, would not stand idly by and watch the idiot girl bind herself to that vile man. For now, she had to get home before Jon got home. She was going to have to tell him what she had done… her heart dropped. He was going to be disappointed in her, and probably angry. Sansa felt a few tears well in her eyes… The idea of disappointing him hurt her more than the idea of him being angry. Head hung low, Sansa found herself walking down the lane back toward Winterfell. The sound of horse’s hooves caused her to look up, and her heart stopped. Jon was in front of her. He let Mya off the back of his horse, and Mya scurried away with a quick glance at Sansa. Jon dismounted and they stared at each other. His eyes were stormy.


	63. Confession and Confrontation (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry its been so long since I wrote on this story. I struggle so much with chapters where they have to fight. This fight was particularly hard to get written, I wanted it to feel genuine and like how real married couples would fight, while also conveying Jon's genuine fear for Sansa. I hope it is not disappointing. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! It has been a rough few months, and your comments give me life!

Leaving Sansa in bed this morning had been difficult, he wished they could just spend the whole day in bed together. Though neither of them had voiced it, they were both concerned about the turns that the investigations into Roose Bolton’s death could take… Jon was very much aware that he and Davos were not exempt from being suspects. If he was taken in for questioning, or if something went terribly wrong…. He just wanted to hold Sansa until all their troubles left them, and they could just forget the world. He supposed that was unrealistic, but the idea of leaving all this behind and being a shepherd in the hills was still an appealing idea to him, the only thing he needed to be happy was Sansa by his side and their sweet babe. Most of his life Jon had never considered being a father, or what it meant. Until he actually took possession of Winterfell, he had never imagined that he would have the opportunity to father a child. He smiled to himself, thinking on how much his life had changed since those lonely days.

Jon and Sam and Davos had been in town today discussing with Varys the terms of their business venture. Ramsey Bolton, in lieu of his father, had picked up his efforts to thwart other investors from joining the wool mill venture, but Jon still felt light, Bolton could not prevent other sheep farmers from selling them their wool and so the venture could move forward.

“Bolton thinks he has you backed into a corner,” Varys chortled, as he ushered them toward the door after their meeting, “But people trust Ramsey far less than they did Roose, and there has even been talk that Ramsey killed Roose, and so Roose’s death was certainly to your advantage.”

Jon and Davos exchanged looks… it may be to their advantage unless speculations become accusations that Jon and Davos somehow had a hand in Roose’s death.

“Thank you, Varys, we will be in touch,” Jon shook Varys’ hand and followed Davos and Sam outside, “Now I need to report back to Myranda Royce that the venture is moving forward.”

“It’s a clever plan, and I think we all reap great reward from it,” Davos said with a smile, “Why don’t you two stop by the house on your way home, Marya I’m sure would be pleased to see you both.”

“I best be on my way home,” said Sam, “Gilly is expecting me.”

“I need to go to Myranda’s…” Jon started but was interrupted by someone calling his name.

“Lord Jon!” Mya Stone was running toward them, “Lord Jon!”

By the time Mya reached them, she was huffing and puffing as if she had just run miles.

“Mya?” Jon went to her side.

“It’s Lady Sansa, sir…” She huffed.

Fear shot through Jon, “What about Lady Sansa?”

“I saw her walking on the lane,” Mya tried to catch her breath, “She was going to the Poole estate, sir!”

“What?” His fear was joined by anger.

“We have to go now!” Mya grabbed him by the elbow, but there was no need. Jon was racing to his horse with Mya at his heels.

“Something doesn’t feel right about it all,” said Mya, as Jon helped her onto the back of his horse and they raced off, leaving Davos and Sam to wonder in their wake.

Terrible images raced through his mind as they rode swiftly down the road toward Winterfell and the Poole Estate. What if the exertion caused the babe to come earlier and Sansa was on the side of the road somewhere and he could not find her? What if Jeyne Poole was not at the Poole Estate at all and it was all some ruse to get her alone? What if Ramsey Bolton were lurking…? Jon’s heart was racing, he even felt tears of both rage and fear sting his eyes. How could she deliberately go against what he asked her not to do? How could she be so careless with her own life and the life of their child? What if Mya had not found him, and something had happened to her? They thundered down the road and they were very nearly to the Poole estate when Jon caught sight of that unmistakable red hair, exiting through the gate and stepping out onto the lane. She began walking down the lane and then she looked up, their gazes met. Jon had to take a breath… she was safe. He was angry… but she was safe. He slowed his horse and helped Mya down before he dismounted. Mya scurried off before he could say anything… he was too focused on his wife. He and Sansa stared at each other. Jon tried to compose himself.

“Let’s go home,” He managed to say, though his voice was strained.

She nodded, and came to his side, her eyes downcast. He lifted her onto the horse, before he mounted behind her. He felt her wrap her arms around his waist and lay her head against his chest as they rode. He said nothing. Words were escaping him… he wanted to rage at her for putting herself and the babe at risk… he wanted to kiss and hold her and make sure that she was alright. He was relieved… but he was angry. She held onto him tighter.

* * *

When they arrived at Winterfell, they still had not said anything. Jon helped her off the horse before swiftly stalking toward the house, with Sansa moving slowly behind him. He threw open the door, and it hit the wall with a thud, and he strode in.

“What in the devil….?” Cook charged out of the kitchen to see what the commotion was, but she took one look at him and retreated.

Sansa was still following him, and so he strode up the stairs to their room. Sansa was behind him, he could tell, and so he waited by the door until she walked through, and he shut the door firmly behind her. A thick silence hung in the air for a few moments, as they looked at each other. Finally, the tension inside him snapped.

“How could you?” He asked trying to keep his voice calm but failing.

Sansa said nothing.

“I asked you not to go, and you went anyway!”

Still, she said nothing.

Jon started to pace, “Do you care so little about your life?”

He was met with silence.

“And what about the life of our baby?” Jon raged.

Sansa looked on the brink of tears.

Jon raked a hand through his hair and continued to pace, “What was so bloody important that you would risk so much!?”

“Jeyne… I was concerned…” Sansa tried, softly.

“But you were not concerned about yourself, or our baby, or me?” Jon snapped.

“No, I didn’t think… I wasn’t…” Sansa floundered.

“And was she there?”

Sansa nodded.

“And what did she want?” Jon demanded, knowing that was not the point, but feeling too angry to be rational.

“She wanted to confide in me…” Sansa whispered looking at the ground, “She ran away from the Tarth’s, Jon.”

“What?”

“She ran away, she came back to be with Ramsey Bolton… and… and…” She stammered, “The foolish girl intends to marry him…”

“She told you all of this?” Jon was still pacing.

Sansa nodded, “Yes,” Sansa took a shaky breath, “And then Ramsey…”

“Ramsey was there?” Jon roared.

She nodded, “I didn’t know he was going to be there.”

“Sansa…” Jon gritted his teeth.

“I’m sorry, Jon, I just… I just had to know…” She said.

Jon took a step toward her and she took a step back.

“And so, you risked everything… yourself… our child… my trust… to get a bit of information that you probably could have gotten from Myranda Royce in a week, if given the time!” Jon shouted.

“I didn’t mean too,” tears welled in Sansa’s eyes, “I didn’t think… I thought maybe…”

“You didn’t think, Sansa!” Jon scolded, knowing he was being harsh but his anger and his fear getting the better of him.

“I know, I’m sorry,” She repeated.

In his frustration he took another step toward her, and when she took another step back, he saw fear in her eyes, and for a moment it softened him.

“What if something had happened to you? What if I could not get to you?” Jon said pleadingly, “What if Ramsey…?” He could not bring himself to say the horrible words.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she repeated.

“I want to trust you, and I wanted to believe you trusted me too,” Jon said, “Do you trust me so little, that you did not think if you had brought your concerns to me that I would not listen, and that we could not have come to a solution together?”

“I trust you,” Sansa said in a small voice.

“You went behind my back,” said Jon, his own voice lowering.

“I know,” She admitted freely and brokenly, “I was worried that the Tarth’s were perhaps mistreating her, or that she was just lonely… I didn’t think…”

Jon studied her… she feared the Tarth’s were mistreating Jeyne, or that Jeyne was lonely. Jon’s heart ached to realize that she was driven to help foolish Jeyne Poole, because she feared that what had happened to her was happening to Jeyne.

“You could have shared this with me,” Jon said, still angry even as his heart was understanding.

“I know, and I was wrong, and I’m sorry,” She cried, this time with tears beginning to fall down her cheeks.

Jon took a gentler step toward her and this time she did not back away, “We said no more secrets, and I know I’ve made my fair share of mistakes on that account…”

Sansa looked at him.

“We have to trust each other…” Jon said, taking her gently by the arms, “We cannot fight a war amongst ourselves… we have so many enemies now…”

“I know,” Sansa said, looking down at the ground.

He was still angry, but the fight had left him for now as she looked at the ground and then glanced back up at him.

“We have to write the Tarth’s,” Sansa said suddenly.

Jon sighed, “Aye…”

“Ramsey threatened me, Jon.”

“What?” Jon’s anger roared back to life.

“He threatened us both if I wrote to the Tarth’s.”

“I’ll kill him,” losing all reason, Jon turned away and stalked toward the door, but she grabbed his arm.

“Jon, you cannot stamp over to the Dreadfort and murder Ramsey Bolton!” Sansa screeched, “Some already say you had a hand in Roose’s death, you cannot leave me alone!”

“And I cannot stand idly by while a man threatens the woman I love!” Jon snarled.

“Jon, please, you cannot go there, not now!”

“Why?”

“I need you here,” Sansa pleaded, “If you do something to Ramsey Bolton, if you are found on their land, they will hang you for Roose’s murder, Jon Snow! You must be smarter than them! Please!”

“Smarter like you?” Jon hissed, and knew the statement was not a fair one.

“I need you here,” She said more calmly, ignoring his spiteful comment. She put a hand on her belly, “We need you here.”

“Ramsey Bolton threatens you, elopes with Jeyne Poole, in all likelihood murdered his father, and has gotten away with rape, and you would have me do nothing?” The mounting injustices attached to Ramsey Bolton’s name would haunt him.

“I would have you be wise!”

“Sansa…”

“Please listen to me, Jon.”

“Why?” He snapped, “The way you listen to me?” That was not fair either.

“Because…” She stammered, and wept, “Because I love you, Jon, please, I can’t lose you too!”


	64. Then There was You (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm sorry its been so long, I've had some serious writers block and a lot going on in life. I hope everyone enjoys this little chapter. It picks up right where the last one left off. Thanks for reading and for your lovely comments!

_I love you_ , the words hung between them and they were both silent as they stared at each other. Sansa hated herself for letting the words slip out at such a moment… but she could not lose him, she could not bare it.

“I’m not sure how you expect me to respond to that right now,” Jon finally said, and the confusion on his face broke her heart.

She knew that her reluctance to tell him how she felt hurt him, and probably even more now that their fight drew the words from her mouth.

“You don’t have to respond any particular way,” Sansa said softly, and looked at the ground.

He was silent, and so she said nothing, only continued to avoid eye contact feeling suddenly very vulnerable. Jon started to pace the room.

“I love you, Sansa,” Jon said with a deeply tired sigh, “Nothing will ever change that.”

Sansa nodded.

“How long?” He demanded suddenly.

“How long?”

“Yes, how long?” He shouted, raking a hand through his hair. He was still angry about Ramsey and her escapade to the Poole’s, but she could also see that his heart was hurt… hurt that she had been so reluctant to love him. She was startled to realize how well she had come to know him, to know the emotions that played across his face, that used to be such a mystery to her. She had once thought him enigmatic… no longer, his eyes spoke volumes… and right now they were wounded.

“You want to know how long I have loved you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know,” She whispered, looking at the ground before standing up.

He was pacing and so she went toward him and reached for his arm, but he jerked away from her. The movement stung her own heart.

“It crept up on me,” She confessed softly, “I cannot point to a moment or a thought or a day…”

His eyes still looked pained, and she was not sure why. Did he not want her love?

“Jon,” She reached for him again, and still he pulled away.

“Have I been so terribly difficult to love?” He asked with such defeat, that she thought her heart might shatter.

Sansa felt tears fill her eyes when he still would not let her touch him, “No!”

His dark eyes studied her.

Finally, he allowed her to take his hand, and she placed it on her belly. His mouth twitched in a soft smile as it always did when he touched their babe.

“I love you, Jon,” She said, “And it was not a difficult thing… In fact, I had forgotten how to love at all, until there was you.”

He looked into her eyes again, and his were still rather stormy, but he nodded.

“I’m sorry it has taken so long to say the words, and I know you may not believe me right now…” Sansa rambled, “I understand if you don’t…” 

He nodded again, looking like a wounded little boy.

“Like I said… you don’t have to respond any which way right now…” She put her hands on his cheeks, “But I love you.”

He still said nothing, only nodded.

Taking him by the hand, she drew him toward the bed. She was not sure what she was about, she had never made love with him, with so much tension between them, so much pain… but somehow, she felt she needed him… and he needed her. They needed to be together… closer. Nerves prickled down her spine, as he allowed himself to be led. They stood at the bedside for a few seconds in silence before Sansa started to sit down. He stopped her.

“May I see you?” He asked gruffly, putting his hand on her shoulder, and tracing his thumb against her bare collarbone.

Sansa felt her cheeks flush, since she had gotten so heavy with child, she had rarely allowed him glimpses of her full body, she was not sure he had seen her fully naked in the light since she had gotten so big. She gnawed her lip.

His hand dropped, and he sighed, looking like he was about to turn away from her.

“Jon… please,” She whispered pleadingly.

“You never let me see you anymore,” He said in resignation.

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and looked at the ground, “I was scared…”

“Scared?” He then came closer, his large, calloused hands coming to cup her cheeks.

“With the babe…” She started not sure how to confess, “I’ve gotten so big, and ungainly, I was afraid… I was afraid… you might not desire me anymore…”

He chuckled, and kissed her forehead, then his fingers went to the laces on the front of her dress and began to untie them. He still had not said anything which made her fidget. She did not stop him, though, as he continued to unlace her dress… Trying to quell her own fears, she reached out and began to undress him as well. The dress fell to the floor, leaving her in her shift, and her now very prominent belly protruding. Still, he said nothing.

“Jon…” She said hesitantly.

“Trust me,” he whispered, “We have to learn to trust each other.”

She nodded.

“I love you,” He kissed her, “There is no part of you, that I do not desire.”

“I love you,” She replied, “Will you trust that I love you?”

He brushed kisses over each of her eyelids, “I trust you.”

She nodded again.

He rucked up her shift, and pulled it over her head, and she shimmied out of her pantalettes… then she was naked.

She looked at the ground, “Some of the women say I’m carrying very heavy, Marya says everyone is different, but I think I’m bigger than I should be…” the words tumbled out of her mouth, while Jon studied her.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, as he began to drop kisses down her throat, to her collarbone, “I’ve told you before how seeing you carrying my child inflames me.”

She chuckled, and stroked his hair, “But you hadn’t seen me fully…”

“Well, now I have,” He growled and latched his mouth onto one of her full breasts, making her gasp and arch against him, “And you’re perfect. I’ll keep you with child all your young years, you’re so beautiful…”

He continued to lavish her breasts with attention before dropping to his knees and laying kisses down her chest and over her belly, touching and feeling every part of her… telling her how lovely and desirable she was. She imagined with the ease at which they fell pregnant, she may very well be with child all her young years… as she had grown to crave him.

He looked up at her, “I love you, Sansa.”

She smoothed back a curl from his face, “I love you, Jon.”

“I want you.”

“I want you to have me.”

Standing to his feet, she helped him out of the rest of his clothes, and it was her turn to study him. She had always been more shy in her attentions to his body but had always thought him rather beautiful too. He had scars across his chest from his days as a soldier, they spoke of great pain… and great strength. She put her hand on his chest.

“Have me, Jon,” She whispered, “I love you.”

He captured her mouth in a kiss so all consuming, that Sansa felt her knees buckle as he pulled her down onto the bed with him. Guiding her by the hips, Sansa swung her leg over his lap to straddle him. He looked away for a moment, but Sansa would not have that, she wanted him to believe that she loved him. 

She cupped his cheeks and brought his gaze back to hers, “No more fears, just be with me… please?”

He looked into her eyes and nodded. He thrust into her firmly, making her gasp as her head fell to shoulder for a moment. She clung to him and looked into his eyes again. His eyes were dark and vulnerable as they stared at each other, moving together. If Jon looked away, Sansa brought his eyes back to hers…

“I love you, Jon, be with me,” she would whisper, “I love you, be with me…”

When she began to unravel, then he smiled, and Sansa cried.

* * *

In the aftermath, Sansa lay with her head against Jon’s chest as he stroked her hair. They had been quiet. Sansa could feel the babe moving inside her and so she took his free hand and placed it on her belly, while they lay there.

“Do you forgive me, Jon?” Sansa asked hesitantly.

He sighed and stroked her hair, “Aye, I forgive you.”

She nodded, “It’ll not happen again.”

He nodded this time and kissed the top of her head.

“The baby coming is getting so much closer,” Sansa said softly.

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Your son is very eager to get out.”

Jon smiled.

“Sometimes it doesn’t seem real that we are bringing new life into the world,” Sansa said.

Jon kissed the top of her head again, and she could feel his smile.

“What are you thinking about?” Sansa asked.

Jon sighed, “Foolish Jeyne Poole.”

Sansa nodded and hugged him tighter, “We have to write the Tarth’s… it’s the only right thing to do…”

“Yes, it is the only way forward,” Jon agreed.

“And Ramsey’s threats?” Sansa asked.

“We must be on our guard…” Jon said, “With the babe so close, you are near your confinement anyway… and well, I will take extra precautions. We cannot live in fear of him.”

“When they finish the investigation into Roose Bolton’s death, will you run for the magistrate’s seat?” Sansa asked.

“Aye, leannan, I’ll not let the seat pass again.”

Sansa hugged him tighter, and giggled suddenly, “Cook will be wondering what happened to us…”

“I think Cook is a wise enough woman to know what happens when a lord takes his lady to bed.”

Sansa snorted with laughter, “I think its more like that she thinks we’re up here fighting, you were rather cross…”

“Aye,” Jon said.

“Are you still cross?” Sansa asked, laying her head back on his chest.

“I forgive you, Leannan,” Jon said, “And I love you, and I believe it was you who said love keeps no record of wrongs…”

“Well, it was actually the Good Book, but…” Sansa chuckled and held him.

“Whatever the case, I love you, and we are going to move forward together.”

“I love you, Jon.”


	65. The Way Forward (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next little bit. I am trying to conquer my writer's block little by little. I hope everyone enjoys!

Jon and Sansa sat at their desk with their letter to the Tarth’s between them. Their plan was risky, and Jon was not certain it was wise to put themselves at risk for foolish Jeyne Poole, but someone had to protect the girl from herself. Jon only hoped they were not too late.

Sansa squeezed his hand, “It’s the only way forward.”

“Aye, it is,” Jon agreed with a sigh.

“I won’t leave the house, I promise,” Sansa assured him.

“I’m going to have one of the field hands take the message out, and then Tormund, Davos, Sam and I will go and fetch Jeyne.”

“And if she refuses?”

“We’re not going to give her many choices,” Jon said.

“Be careful,” Sansa implored.

“I will,” Jon squeezed her hand.

“Her reputation will already be damaged, and she may argue that that is why she must wed Ramsey…”

“But no reputation is worth her life.”

“Exactly,” Sansa agreed.

Jon leaned across the table and kissed her softly. They were in solidarity, and they were determined to save Jeyne Poole from being Ramsey Bolton’s next victim. Jon suspected that the only reason he had not done anything to her yet was because he needed her to marry him to get his hands on her property. Jon and Sansa were not going to allow that to happen.

* * *

With Tormund at his left, Davos at his right, and Sam guarded his rear, the four men clattered into the courtyard of the Poole estate. Jon saw an unknown carriage sitting there, and he hoped beyond hope that perhaps it was the Tarth’s having already discerned where their missing charge had runaway too, and all of this would be for naught. When they entered the house, however, Jon was disappointed to find Petyr Baelish there with Jeyne and not the Tarth’s… thankfully, though, Ramsey Bolton was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, well, Lord Snow,” Baelish snarled in feigned pleasantry, “What can we do for you?”

“Baelish,” Jon growled.

Jeyne was smiling at them, “Yes, do please come in Lord Jon, I feel truly awful about how Lady Sansa and I left things yesterday.”

“Jeyne, we’ve come to take you to Winterfell, you cannot stay here unchaperoned…” Jon stated.

“I’m chaperoning the girl…” said Baelish.

“An appropriate chaperone would be my wife,” said Jon.

“And how is my dear niece, Lady Snow?” Baelish asked, “She is nearing her confinement, is she not?”

“She is in her confinement,” Jon stated firmly.

“I suppose, it would not be so bad a thing to stay at Winterfell until the wedding,” said Jeyne, “I do love Lady Sansa, and if she is in her confinement she cannot be coming here.”

“Then gather your things and come with us,” Jon said, trying not to overplay his hand since the girl was willing and blissfully ignorant.

“This is all very unnecessary…” Baelish started to protest.

“Oh, Lord Baelish, do not be so very dramatic, the wedding is tomorrow, so I do not think it would be so much of a bad thing for me to see Lady Snow for any womanly wisdom she might be able to impart,” Jeyne said.

“Miss Poole, I’m sure Ramsey would prefer you stay…” Baelish tried.

“He can’t see me before the wedding anyway, it would be bad luck.”

“Come, Jeyne,” Jon encouraged.

“Lady Snow and I must make amends,” Jeyne told Baelish, “Harsh words were exchanged between us and there should not be harsh words between friends.”

“These men do not have your interests at heart…” Baelish snapped.

“Nonsense,” Jeyne huffed, “Lord Jon and my father were friends, and besides that I think I am old enough to know my own mind,” Jeyne turned from Baelish with a roll of her eyes, obviously a lesser fan of Baelish than she was of Bolton. Jon feared that if Bolton were to return these circumstances could grow violent, and that was something he did not want. They needed to move quickly.

Sam and Davos accompanied Jeyne upstairs and Jon could hear the foolish girl speaking to them about her grand wedding plans as they ascended the stairs.

“You think you are so very clever charging in here to take that stupid girl to Winterfell,” Baelish chortled.

“She is coming of her own free will, you cannot keep her here,” Jon said.

“Bolton is not quite so clever, Lord Snow, but do not be mistaken that I could unravel your whole life, I would only need to say a few words,” Baelish snarled as he stood and came to face Jon.

Tormund took a step forward, but Jon halted him, they could not incite violence.

“Words like… bastard…” Baelish circled Jon like a predator to prey.

Jon straightened his spine and glared at Baelish.

“Or Murderer…” Baelish continued, “Half the town already believes you had a hand in Roose Bolton’s death.”

Jon did not dignify that with a response.

“And what about your pretty little wife?” Baelish said, “What kind of words do I have for her? How about… whore?”

Jon gritted his teeth, rage filling him.

“She’s loose and a liar,” Baelish continued seeing he had struck a nerve, “No courts would believe a woman like that…”

Jon took a breath, they had to take Jeyne calmly, if they did not, they could be the ones in trouble with the law.

“I know all your secrets…” Baelish hissed, “Even those of your relations, like your Aunt and her bastard child… and the madness of your uncle…”

Jon stared straight ahead.

“It’s my business to deal in secrets, and I know them all,” Baelish said, “And believe me, I can use them.”

“You may try, Lord Baelish, but in the meantime, Jeyne Poole is coming to Winterfell,” Jon said.

Baelish only grinned, “I’m sure Bolton will find this to be an interesting turn.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Jon, “But if he shows Jeyne his true colors now, I’m sure that the wedding will be called off, Jeyne may be a fool, but she’s not so foolish as to wed a man who would rape her.”

Baelish and Jon glared at each other, and Jeyne, Sam and Davos descended the stairs, and in their hand was a small overnight bag. Jeyne, poor ignorant Jeyne, was about to be acquainted with the world in more ways than one.

“You know, Jeyne, if you go with these men, they will not let you return here to wed Ramsey,” Baelish tried.

Jeyne turned her nose up at Baelish in disdain, “Nonsense, they cannot hold me against my will, Baelish, nor would they.”

The next few days were going to be a trial this girl had never before faced, as Jon had every intention of holding her against her will, even if he had to get the authorities involved.

“Don’t be a fool, Jeyne,” Baelish said.

“Don’t be impertinent, Petyr, or I’ll have my dear Ramsey throw you out of our home after we are wed tomorrow,” said Jeyne.

Poor foolish Jeyne, Jon thought as he offered his arm to her.

“Thank you, Lord Snow, you always were the gentleman.”

“Thank you, Miss Poole, shall we go?” Jon asked.

“Indeed,” said Jeyne, “I am happy to see Sansa, she is such a dear, and I am sorry for having left off on such a sour note yesterday, she simply does not understand my strong attachment to my dear Ramsey.”

Jon sighed and led her to the carriage.

* * *

They arrived at Winterfell, without issue, however Jon knew that Baelish would no doubt scurry off immediately to Ramsey and so Jon sent Tormund to town to enlist the help of the authorities. If Ramsey was on Winterfell property without leave then he would be the one in trouble with the law, as long as they could keep Jeyne convinced that she came to Winterfell of her own freewill. Jon’s main hope was that the Tarth’s had already surmised where Jeyne had disappeared too and would be arriving any day now. Their own message would certainly arrive too late. Unlike in England where Lord Hardwicke’s Act was adhered to, it was not against the law in Scotland for a woman over the age of sixteen to marry without consent, and so Jon was not sure if it was Jeyne’s desire for a traditional wedding or simply her own ignorance of the legality of her situation that had prevented her marriage already… considering Jeyne was a frivolous girl, he surmised it to be the former, as surely Ramsey would have pushed for it to have taken place upon her arrival. Perhaps the girl’s superficiality will have saved her?

“I do love Winterfell, it’s a beautiful old place,” said Jeyne, as they got out of the carriage.

“It is indeed, my lady,” Jon offered her his hand out of the carriage and Davos carried her bag.

Coming out of the house, was Marya Seaworth and she gave Jeyne a little curtsy, as befitted the differences in their stations, “It is a pleasure to have you back in Scotland, Miss Poole, Lady Snow is resting in the parlor, perhaps Mr. Seaworth might take you inside?”

“Right this way Miss,” Davos ushered her in as Marya and Jon looked on.

When Jeyne was out of earshot, Marya turned to Jon.

“Sansa has apprised me of your plot,” she said, “It is a commendable one…”

“Thank you,” Jon said.

Marya took his hand and gave it a squeeze, “Please do be careful though, I would not want to see you, or Sansa hurt over that foolish child.”

“We will be, and Sansa is not to leave this house again until after the babe comes,” Jon said.

“Good, good,” said Marya, “She seems tired today…”

“Sansa?”

“Yes,” Marya clarified.

“She has been increasingly tired, Sam says it can be normal,” Jon replied in concern.

“Oh, yes, it can, I’m sorry, Jon, I did not mean to frighten you,” Marya gave him a gentle smile, “Though you should watch her closely, I think she may be carrying twins…”

“What?” Jon asked in alarm.

“She is denying it right now, saying no woman in her family has ever given birth to twins, but the feel of her belly suggests two babes,” Marya said.

Jon felt the wind leave him for a moment. Twins?

“Now, I could be wrong, I’ve never carried twins myself, so I can’t be sure,” Marya continued, “But I just wanted to alert you, because twins often come earlier than the one babe, and the birthing can sometimes be more dangerous, she needs peace and lots of rest… all this turmoil between Winterfell and the Dreadfort is not good for her right now…”

Jon nodded, “Thank you, Marya.”

“Don’t thank me, thank your precious wife, she is the one about to give you a baby, possibly two,” Marya chuckled, “She adamantly believes there is only one, and there may very well only be one, but still one babe is no small matter.”

Jon smiled, “I’ll make sure she rests.”

“I know you will, now I am going to go home and put my feet up, my rheumatism is giving me fits again,” Marya chuckled, and winced as she walked down the steps. 

“Do you want to take the carriage back?” Jon offered, seeing as their carriage and team were still out.

“No, no, I have our buggy, you go on inside and see to your wife, and your young charge.”

Jon nodded, and stood on the steps for a few moments. They were in for a long night, Ramsey would no doubt be charging over to claim Jeyne back, and now Jon had only another reason to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I modeled Jeyne Poole on Lydia from Pride and Prejudice, with a sort of willful ignorance and a misled desire for independence. I know she is much more of a victim in canon than I am making her out to be, so she is definitely out of character, not sure if that needs a tag or not


	66. So It Begins (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short because I decided I want to switch POVs for the confrontation with Ramsey. I hope everyone enjoys. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me, this story is getting close to its end. I appreciate so much the kind and encouraging comments, you all make my day!

Sansa knew Marya had told Jon her suspicions as soon he walked in the door and his eyes found hers. He looked frightened but she knew it had nothing do with Ramsey and everything to do with the prospect of her carrying twins. Twin births were dangerous. Sansa had to sigh. She did not believe herself pregnant with twins, the odds were so unlikely, besides wouldn’t she know if she were carrying twins? Sansa pulled her blanket tighter around her and allowed the maid to pour them tea. She usually dismissed the maid after they brought the tea tray, but the babe was making her especially tired today and she was cold. Winter was coming.

“Thank you, my dear,” Jeyne said to the maid condescendingly.

Their maid curtsied and left the parlor.

“I’m happy you’ve come to stay with us, Jeyne,” Sansa said congenially, “I was most distraught over our parting.”

“As was I,” said Jeyne taking Sansa’s hand and giving it a squeeze, “I’m so happy to be able to see you before my marriage and glean any womanly wisdom from you.”

Sansa had to refrain from looking at Jon.

“Jon, darling, will you take tea with us?” Sansa asked.

“No, thank you,” Jon smiled at bowed to the two women in the courtly way that someone like Jeyne would expect, “I have to attend to some work, you ladies enjoy yourselves.”

Jon closed the parlor door, and Sansa knew the next step in their plot was for Jon to post guards at every entrance to the old castle, while Sansa kept Jeyne occupied for the afternoon.

“Lord Jon is such a dear,” Jeyne said with a toss of her curls, “You were very lucky in your choice.”

Sansa smiled… she was indeed lucky to have Jon in life… she could not imagine where she would have ended up without him. Perhaps she would have been cloistered away bearing children for Harry Hardying whole he whored away his fortune? Sansa shuddered to think of such a fate. Jon had been her savior in more ways than one, and she hoped that she had been the same for him in other ways.

“When is your child expected?” Jeyne asked excitedly.

“Marya believes sometime near February,” Sansa responded.

“Oh, that’s not so very far away,” Jeyne exclaimed.

It was near December now.

“Yes.”

“Are you very frightened?” Jeyne asked.

“Sometimes, but mostly I am ready to not be pregnant,” Sansa chuckled.

“Ramsey and I want to have children right away,” said Jeyne excitedly.

Sansa felt such pity rush over her for this foolish girl, “Do you know anything about bringing a baby into the world?”

“Some,” Jeyne said, but Sansa could it was a lie. It was not uncommon for girls of their station to be kept ignorant about marital relations and birth.

“Do you know how a man gets a woman with child?” Sansa asked bluntly and Jeyne blushed.

“Not rightly, I know a man lies with a woman and knows her in the biblical sense,” Jeyne chuckled, “But I could not rightly tell you what the biblical sense is.”

Poor naïve Jeyne… charging headfirst into the unknown with a brute and a rapist. Sansa cringed… they had to save her, not only from Ramsey but from herself.

“It’s not all poetry and sweet kisses in the dark,” Sansa warned, “You should not want to enter the marriage bed with someone who is not gentle and mindful of you.”

“Are you going to try and tell me again that my Ramsey is not gentle or mindful of me?” Jeyne huffed.

Sansa made no comment… she could not start an argument with Jeyne, or they may risk Jeyne wanting to return home. The babe inside Sansa kicked, and Sansa was reminded of the night she and Jon had consummated their marriage… how very sweet and strange it had been… she remembered the pain and the mess, but mostly she remembered Jon’s tenderness and care. Jeyne would have no such sweet memories if she gave herself to Ramsey Bolton.

“I do wish my mother and father were here,” Jeyne said softly, “Especially my mother.”

Sansa gave a sad smile. How often had she herself wished the same in the early days of marriage? And even more so now that she would be giving birth to a baby…

* * *

The afternoon wore away in mindless prattle. Randa even stopped by for supper to assist Sansa in entertaining Jeyne, so that she would not tire, and so Jeyne would not grow bored. They feared Ramsey would charge in at any moment to claim his bride, but he never did, and Sansa was not sure what to make of that. After helping Jeyne ready for bed, and tucking her in like a child, Sansa waddled down to their room to find Jon. He was in the study.

“Is Jeyne settled?” He asked, as she came to stand in front of him.

“Yes, settled to dream her foolish dreams,” Sansa said. She had thought Jeyne would talk all night about her upcoming nuptials, and Sansa had listened patiently all the while knowing that these grand plans would never come to fruition… not with Ramsey anyway.

“I have guards at every entrance,” Jon said with a sigh, “Though I fear Bolton is wise…”

Sansa stroked Jon’s hair, “What do you mean?”

“I think he is waiting until tomorrow, to force our hand, he knows Jeyne will want to leave tomorrow, and we will be forced to acquiesce or hold her against her will,” Jon explained putting a hand on Sansa’s hip, “If it comes to that we can only hope the authorities will see our side…”

“Or hope the Tarth’s show up.”

“She has been here long enough for them to have followed and caught up.”

“Our letter will certainly come too late; our only hope is that they were smart enough to come of their own accord.”

Jon placed his hand on her belly.

Sansa smoothed back his curls, “Marya told you her suspicions, didn’t she?”

“Aye.”

“I’m not carrying twins, Jon,” Sansa huffed.

“How would you know?”

“Well, how would Marya know?”

“Marya has helped bring countless babes into the world.”

She could not be carrying twins… she was not prepared for two babes… she was already frightened enough about birthing one.

“No one in my family has ever borne twins,” Sansa said as she took his hand and tugged him toward bed.

“I just think we ought not take her words lightly,” Jon said, “I want you to rest and be safe.”

“Jon, we’ve already determined that I am not to leave the house until the babe comes, I can’t be any safer than that.”

Jon nodded but the concern did not leave his eyes.

They readied for bed and laid down together. The two dogs had been banished to sleep in front of the hearth. Lady had gotten bigger and between her and Ghost half the bed was taken up. Jon wrapped his arms around Sansa and kissed her hair.

“I don’t think I shall sleep well tonight.”

“Nor I,” Sansa agreed.

They were silent for a few minutes, and Sansa snuggled back against him, and rubbed his arm. He was probably falling asleep.

“Jon,” she whispered.

“Hmm?” came his sleepy reply.

“I want my mother.”

Jon kissed her hair and held her tighter.

* * *

The dawn brought Sansa and Jon downstairs and thankfully it appeared that Jeyne was still asleep.

“Lord almighty, why is there a man with a gun posted at every door this morning? Are we expecting the English?” Cook tutted as she brought out some breakfast porridge to the table.

“We have a guest this morning,” said Jon as he took a sip of tea.

“Is Miss Poole still here?”

“Yes.”

“Not that its any of my business,” Cook said disapprovingly, “But ye just be asking for trouble, Lord Jon.”

“Someone has to save the girl.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but some folk won’t be saved,” Cook said with a shake of her head as she retreated to the kitchen.

Sansa and Jon exchanged looks. They knew Cook was not entirely wrong, but still they had to try.

“Our only hope right now is that the Tarth’s are already nearly here.”

One of their young chambermaids entered the dining room, “There is a Lord Baelish here to see you, sir.”

Jon sighed and reached for Sansa’s hand, “So it begins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Ramsey Bolton comes to Winterfell (Jon POV)


	67. The End of the Beginning (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not confident with how this chapter turned out as I am not sure I am very good at writing this type of conflict, but I hope everyone enjoys. It may seem a little anti-climatic to some, but I promise I am going somewhere with all of this. As the title implies, we are getting very close to the end of the story. The main points we have left is Sansa's birth, then the climatic finish with the Snow/Bolton/Baelish plot, and then the wrap up. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me this last year! I appreciate your lovely comments, you have kept me motivated to finish!

“Davos is already on the way to get the authorities,” Sansa reminded him as Jon prepared to go out to meet with Baelish, and he imagined if Ramsey was not already there, he was not far behind… in fact Jon was counting on it.

Jon stuck his pistol in the holster at his hip.

Sansa touched his arm, “You have to be smarter than them.”

“Aye,” Jon sighed.

“Don’t let them provoke you to do something rash,” Sansa took his face between her hands, and gave him a gentle kiss.

“I won’t.”

“Be careful,” She said, biting her lower lip.

“I will, I promise,” Jon nodded toward Grenn and Tormund, who were to accompany him outside the castle walls, “Do what you can to keep Jeyne occupied, even better if she stays sleeping for a while longer until this is all over.”

“I will do what I can.”

Jon touched Sansa’s cheek, “But promise me, even if she storms out and leaves, you will not leave this house.”

Sansa nodded, “I promise, I won’t leave the house, Jon.”

Jon put his hand on her belly, “The two of you are all that matter to me… we are going to do what we can for Jeyne, but you two are all that matter.”

Sansa nodded again, “I won’t leave the house.”

Jon kissed her firmly and held her close for a few moments before turning toward the door, with Tormund and Grenn guarding his back.

* * *

At what point did helping someone who did not want to be helped become foolhardy? Jon asked himself as he left the safety of the castle to meet Petyr Baelish and presumably, Ramsey Bolton. He instructed Sansa to keep Jeyne occupied for as long as possible… but they could only hold the girl there against her will for so long. If she decided to leave could they reasonably force her to stay without being accused of holding her hostage? They had to keep the law on their side. If Bolton came on Winterfell land and refused to leave, Jon believed he could get the authorities to forcibly remove him and maybe even hold him overnight for trespassing. That was the goal… to give the Tarth’s one more night to catch up with their young charge.

To Jon’s satisfaction, Baelish and Bolton were both waiting when Jon exited the castle walls, and Jon noted with equal satisfaction that some of Bolton’s men had guns… which would give Jon even firmer ground to have him arrested for trespassing… he could only pray that things did not get violent before Davos returned with the authorities.

“Lord Baelish, Lord Bolton,” Jon greeted coolly from his horse, with Tormund and Grenn behind him.

“I’ve come up to collect my bride from your care, Lord Snow,” said Ramsey with a cruel smile, “Your supervision of her is no longer required as we shall be wed this afternoon.”

“You’ve come quite early; I’m afraid Miss Poole is still sleeping.”

“It will not be much of an inconvenience for us to wait until you wake her, and your sweet wife, I’m sure, could help her get ready,” Ramsey said.

“We can certainly return her once she has a chance to dress and eat.”

“That will be most unnecessary,” Ramsey chuckled, “Baelish and I are already here, no need for you to make a special trip to return her.”

“Any gentleman would invite us to tea in the parlor while we wait,” said Baelish in feigned pleasantry, “Unless of course there was something untoward afoot.”

“As you both are aware, my wife is with child and has entered her confinement, I should not want to disrupt her rest with gentleman callers,” Jon said calmly.

“Very well, then, we’ll wait right here,” said Bolton with a sneer, “But I won’t be leaving without Miss Poole.”

Jon had been counting on that very fact, “I will be asking you to leave, Lord Bolton, as I do not approve of your men bringing guns on my land, I have field hands and villagers about who are under my protection, and should any of them get hurt, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Ramsey chuckled, “Do you think that frightens me, Lord Snow?”

Jon gritted his teeth.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” Ramsey continued.

Jon wanted to pommel the sneer from his face… but he kept calm, “Such as murder and rape?”

Ramsey chuckled, “And ruin…”

They glared at each other.

“You mustn’t forget that one…”

Baelish had threatened much the same… Jon cared little for threats… let them mock and threaten… Jon only needed time. Having anticipated this standoff, Sansa had recommended sending Davos early for the authorities… they were very likely nearly here and would catch Ramsey in his threats and take him in for trespassing.

“If I were to kill you now, what do you think would happen to your sweet wife?” Ramsey said drawing his horse closer to Jon, his hand on the pistol at his hip. 

Jon glared at him… he would not flinch.

“Bolton…” Baelish warned, obviously catching on to Jon and Sansa’s game.

Ramsey looked back at Baelish and laughed maniacally, “Do you think she would scream, Lord Snow?”

Jon felt the muscle in his jaw twitch, “I’ll ask you again to leave, Lord Bolton, you’re not welcome on my land.”

Ramsey laughed, unphased, “How very unneighborly of you,” Bolton pulled the pistol and pointed it at Jon, “I’ll not be leaving without Miss Poole.”

He fired the pistol in the air.

Jon did not flinch.

“I think I would like to hear your wife scream,” said Ramsey, and it took everything Jon had in him to not pull his own pistol and shoot the bastard dead… he had fought a war after all, he had killed men for less. He heard Sansa’s voice in his head, _“you have to be smarter than them… don’t let them provoke you.”_ Jon could not overplay his hand, not now when there was an end in sight. Davos would be there soon, they just had to wait.

Ramsey reloaded his pistol, and Jon braced himself… he would not flinch.

“Leave now, Bolton…” Jon prompted.

“Ramsey, the authorities…” Baelish started, but Ramsey whirled his horse around and pointed the gun at Baelish.

“Do you think I need you, Baelish?” Ramsey sneered.

Perhaps Ramsey was more unhinged than they gave him credit for? Jon continued to stand firm.

“Your sniveling in my father’s ear, drove him to his death no doubt.”

Baelish looked unperturbed, and smiled as if he knew a secret, “And of course, I’m sure you know exactly what drove your father to his death.”

Ramsey grinned and turned his attention back to Jon, pointing the pistol at him again, “Bring Miss Poole out now, or believe me, the consequences will be dire…”

Jon smiled himself.

“Retrieve her,” Ramsey commanded again.

Jon only nodded, and he and his companions made their way back inside the castle walls.

* * *

Sansa was at the door immediately when they ascended the steps.

“Jon, I heard a gunshot,” She said with wide eyes.

Jon hugged her, “fired in the air, but if Davos does not return soon, I imagine this will escalate. Is Jeyne awake?”

“She is getting dressed in the room,” Sansa explained, “For her wedding…”

“Poor foolish girl,” Jon sighed, “Does she know Ramsey is here?”

“Not yet,” said Sansa.

“If we can keep it from her just a little longer…” Jon motioned for the men to follow him once more, “I have to go back out, and hopefully Davos will return and we will have Bolton removed for trespassing.”

“If he’s armed, Jon, we don’t know what he’s capable of…”

Jon felt his hand shake slightly as he touched his own gun, “I think I know exactly what he’s capable of.”

Sansa kissed him soundly, “Be smart, be safe…”

“I will.”

* * *

“Miss Poole is readying herself for your wedding, Bolton,” Jon said confidently as he approached the group of men from the Dreadfort, camped outside Winterfell’s walls. The game continued.

Ramsey sighed and rolled his eyes, waving his pistol in the air once more like a mad man, “I know you are toying with me, Snow…”

“She’ll be out when she’s ready, I’m sure you’ve heard how woman can be on their wedding day,” Jon said, “You’d be more comfortable waiting in your own home.”

Ramsey laughed, “You think I’m that foolish? I’m not leaving without Miss Poole.”

“You’ll leave, or you will be removed.”

Ramsey laughed again and before Jon could anticipate his next move, Ramsey fired his pistol.

“Ramsey!” screamed a female voice. _Shite_ …

Jon felt fire in his arm as the bullet grazed his skin, he grabbed hold his horse to stay astride. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tormund raise his pistol and then Jeyne Poole dash toward the group of men only to be caught around the waist by Grenn. Grimacing and trying to keep composure as he realized his wound was not deep, Jon sat up straight and held up his hand to stay Grenn and Tormund. Jeyne pulled away from Grenn with a snarl.

Ramsey got off his horse just as Jon did and they both made for Jeyne.

“Jeyne!” Jon tried, but the foolish girl only paused between them.

“Ramsey, I overheard one of the servants say you were out here demanding to see me,” She said with a sadly pretty smile.

“Get on the horse, you little fool,” Ramsey jerked Jeyne’s arm so hard she fell to the ground.

She looked up at him, her broken heart in her eyes, “Ramsey?”

“Now!” He snapped.

“Leave the girl alone, Bolton!” Jon commanded, the situation growing even more intense.

“Jeyne is to be wed to me this afternoon, and there is nothing you can do to stop it,” Ramsey said with a chortle, grabbing Jeyne by the arm roughly and pulling her to his side.

“Jeyne, you don’t have to do this, you can stay here with us where you are safe,” Jon pleaded, “We’ll protect you.”

“You practically kidnapped me!” Jeyne hissed, but she gave Ramsey a frightened look.

“Sir, the constable!” shouted one of Ramsey’s men and relief flooded Jon as the whole group turned and saw the constable and bailiff arriving with Davos.

Baelish fled the scene.

“By devil, what is going on here!” The constable exclaimed as he approached the hostile group of men.

“I’d like Lord Bolton removed from my property,” Jon commanded.

“Come now, the Snow’s have been holding my bride hostage, and I’ve merely come to collect her,” Ramsey said with a snide smile. 

“Miss Poole, do your guardians know you have returned to Scotland?” The constable asked Jeyne.

Jeyne looked at the ground and did not answer.

The constable chuckled, “Foolhardy, that’s what it is, and it seems the Snows have been caught in the middle…”

Jon was not sure what to make of the constable taking the matter so lightly.

“This foolishness between Winterfell and Dreadfort is archaic, don’t you both know?” The older man bellowed giving Jon and Ramsey a condescending glare as he might foolish grandsons, “We can’t be holding a hundred-year-old clan grudges, it’s a new age!”

Jon held his breath… was the constable going to do anything? “He shot me,” Jon said, confused.

“Tis but a scratch.”

Jon sighed, and realized he was going to have to raise a bigger fuss, “Bolton is trespassing and making threats against my family, I want him removed from my property!”

“You know I can only hold him overnight for trespassing, your land is not enclosed after all,” The constable said with a deep sigh as if this trouble was beneath his dignity, “Miss Poole is here, there is no need for these pointless quarrels.”

“Remove him, please sir,” Jon held his ground.

“Alright, alright, just sour the whole day, why don’t ye?” The constable grumbled and then he and the bailiff grabbed Ramsey roughly by the arm and placing him under arrest. Ramsey was seething, but he did not protest, and Jon knew it was because he was biding his time. The constable could not hold him forever… Ramsey knew this… and though he was often rash, Ramsey was no fool.

Jeyne burst into tears, and Jon rubbed his eyes in frustration.

“Ramsey!” Jeyne called out pleadingly, but Ramsey ignored her which only made her cry more.

“Miss Poole, I don’t think its proper for you to return to the Manor, ye best stay with the Snows until your guardians can be contacted,” The constable then turned to Jon, “If the Snow’s would have ye, that is?”

“She’s welcome with us,” Jon said, taking a breath trying to hide the pain his arm was causing him.

“They practically kidnapped me!” Jeyne exclaimed, still crying.

“I remember ye coming willingly enough, ye wee wench!” Tormund bellowed.

“Tormund…” Jon stayed him.

“Stay or go, I care not, I’ve had my fill of feuding and runaway lovers for one day… this used to be such a quiet parish…” the constable complained as he led Ramsey away.

Ramsey tossed one more glaring look at Jon and spared no sympathy for Jeyne as he was taken away.

Baelish had disappeared as soon as the authorities had come into sight and so Jon turned to Jeyne.

“Lady Sansa would be pleased to have your company for another night,” Jon offered.

“You tricked me!” She snarled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And how was that Miss Poole?”

“Convinced me to come here and then made trouble for my dear Ramsey.”

“Stay or go, Miss Poole,” Jon said, grimacing, “But there will be no wedding today.”

More tears fell down Jeyne’s face, “I’d like to go home.”

“Very well then, I’ll have Tormund and Davos escort you,” Jon nodded at the two men, and they led her back up to the house to collect her things.

Jon looked up at the battlements and saw Sansa’s lovely red hair billowing in the wind, before she turned away obviously making to come down to him.

Jon returned to the castle, weary and in a great deal of pain. Jeyne said nothing to anyone as she marched up the stairs collected her bags and marched out with Tormund and Davos on her heels.

“You’ve been shot!” Cook exclaimed disapprovingly, as if he were a little boy caught playing with a gun.

“Aye, Cook, it appears so,” Jon sat down in a chair, “But tis but a scratch,” he said mimicking the outrageously nonchalant tone of their semi-useless constable.

Cook shook her head at him, “Serves ye right for trying to help that ungrateful little welp.”

“Perhaps so,” Jon sighed as he examined the wound, which was indeed superficial, “Send one of the girls down to fetch Sam, would you?”

Cook went to do his bidding, still shaking her head in disapproval.

“You’ve been shot!” Sansa exclaimed as she rushed into the room and flew to his side.

Jon chuckled, “Aye.”

“It’s not funny,” She frowned hard at him, and he sobered, “It’s a good job, Bolton is a poor shot.”

“He was not shooting to kill,” Jon said, though that knowledge may have been more disturbing, “There were too many witnesses, if he truly means to kill me, he will do it as he did to his father…”

“That is of no comfort to me!” Sansa snapped, as she examined his arm, and he could see tears starting to form in her eyes, that she was trying to hold back.

Jon took her hand in his, “It’s but a scratch, my love, I’m still here.”

She nodded and kissed him.

* * *

The next day, Jon walked down the cobbled road toward Varys’ bank with Randa Royce beside him.

“You needn’t look so very pleased with yourself,” Randa chuckled, after having told him the most recent gossip she had heard regarding Jeyne’s arrival at the Poole manor the day before only to find the Tarth’s there and looking for her. Jon, of course, had already had word of this from Tormund and Davos, but he was pleased to know that the Tarth’s and Jeyne Poole were on their way back to London this morning.

“So your plot was successful save for a few minor scrapes,” Randa teased, patting his sore arm purposefully.

“Aye,” said Jon.

“I heard they are likely to send her to finishing school in Italy, with the nuns,” Randa chortled.

“I pity her,” Jon said honestly, “She is a foolish girl, indeed, but she has no one left in the world.”

“Aye, but that is part of her own doing,” Randa said, “She may have lost her family, yes, but the Tarth’s seem good people, and they would care for her if she’d let them, she need not be alone.”

Jon nodded, he supposed it was true.

“Besides, when she comes of age in a few years, she can return to Scotland, like nothing happened and have her Bonny Prince Ramsey and no one can stop her then.”

“Hopefully, she will have forgotten him by then.”

“Aye, hopefully,” Randa sighed, “Bolton’s have long memories, Jon, and I don’t expect this to be over soon, unless Ramsey is finally convicted of his father’s murder.”

Jon sighed and rubbed his eyes, “Aye, you are right.”

“I fear for you and Sansa and the babes…” Randa said.

“Babes?” Jon smiled.

“I told you, I know everything that goes on in these parts,” Randa laughed, and offered no further explanation.

Some commotion across the street drew their attention.

“Well, speak of the devil and so he appears,” Randa said as they saw Ramsey Bolton and Petyr Baelish stalking across the street toward them. Jon stepped in front of Randa.

“Bolton, Baelish…” Jon greeted, acting as if the events of the day before had not occurred.

“I’ll not forget this, Snow,” Bolton snarled, “And you will pay…”

They glared at each other.

“Maybe not today, but soon… you will pay…”

Jon just stared at him.

“I do worry over my sweet niece should anything happen to you, Lord Snow,” Baelish added.

Randa tugged Jon’s arm, “Come on, we have business…”

“At Varys’ bank?” asked Baelish, “Varys’ is a good friend of mine, perhaps, I should pay him a visit before my sojourn is over. Come Bolton…”

Baelish urged Bolton to follow, and they started to turn away, but Bolton turned around once more looking Jon square in the eye, and he smiled, “Do keep an eye on your pretty wife, Lord Snow…”

Jon nearly pulled his pistol then and there but Randa tugged his arm once more.

* * *

Jon returned home that night after helping Randa with her business affairs and found his radiantly pregnant wife sitting in her nightgown and robe by the hearth, knitting. After pouring himself some scotch, he sat down in his own chair and sighed, and hoped for awhile at least that they might have some peace. Ramsey’s words haunted him, but for now, at least until the babies came, she would not leave his sight. Reaching over to him, Sansa stroked his hair.

“What has you brooding?” She asked, “Have we not won the day?”

Jon looked at her, “Ramsey continues to threaten.”

“We cannot live in fear of him,” Sansa sighed.

“No,” Jon agreed, “But we cannot be heedless of him either.”

“No, we will be smarter if we can,” Sansa said.

Standing up, Jon leaned over her and kissed her, before offering her his hand, “Come to bed.”

“Aye.”

They walked to their room together, hand in hand.

“We will have our first Christmas together soon,” she said as she crawled into bed.

Jon got himself undressed, “And how do you want to spend our first Christmas?”

“With you,” She smiled at him, “And maybe some of our friends…” She chuckled and put her hands on her belly, “I’ll be huge by then.”

“Its not so very far away,” Jon came over to her and placed on kiss on her bump, “You’re beautiful.”

She smiled but snorted in disbelief.

“In fact, I’ll show you how beautiful I think you are, if you’ll have me,” Jon grinned at her.

“I’ll have you,” Sansa giggled and then her eyes softened as she touched his cheek, “I love you.”

Jon brushed his nose against hers, “And I love you, Leannan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Christmas Fluff at Winterfell


	68. Rescued (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a nice fluffy chapter. I hope everyone enjoys! Thank you so much for your enthusiasm and your lovely comments, you keep me motivated to keep writing!
> 
> So, preface to some of the discussion of Christmas in this chapter. I try to do a little research for this story, so that it has a little grounding in reality even though the bulk is made up, and during my research for this chapter I stumbled upon an interesting reoccurring theme regarding Christmas in Scotland. It appears from several sources that Christmas was not widely celebrated, and may have even been banned in Scotland during this period due to period religious beliefs following the Reformation. These sources were not academic sources, but it was repeated enough in other internet sources that I believe this may be true to some extent. I did not know this about Scotland, and it took me entirely off guard, but since I did not have a lot of time to investigate further into this matter, I took a sort of middle road, in which Christmas is not banned but is not widely celebrated by Scottish folk, and so you will see in this chapter, Sansa being more enthusiastic about Christmas as her mother was English, and she technically grew up in England, than the other Scottish people. 
> 
> Also, Hogmanay is basically Scottish New Year's and is a much bigger deal in Scotland than even christmas. 
> 
> Once again please remember, though I am a historian by training, I am by no means an expert on Scottish history as it is not my content specialty, and I hope any errors of fact can be forgiven.

Sansa kissed at Jon’s neck in the morning light… she was still rather shy sometimes about their loving, but she was getting bolder. Her husband was still asleep, snoring softly. She knew he was tired, as yesterday he had spent the majority of the day working to make sure all their tenants had firewood and food for the impending cold weather. He worked so hard for their people, and Sansa wished she had been able to go out with him yesterday, but the nearer she got to her time the more uncomfortable she became and more easily tired. Besides that, she was in her confinement and Jon was very anxious even if she was in the courtyard. She did not want him anxious over her. Brushing another kiss against his neck, she smiled. The time since Jeyne Poole had been taken back to England, had been peaceful and Ramsey Bolton had not been seen much around town and for that they were grateful. Of course, with winter now well upon them, people were much more focused on food and warmth than they were grudges. Still, Sansa knew Jon was still worried, and she was worried herself. Since her kisses did not seem to disturb his rest, Sansa got as close to him as she could, though her belly between them prevented her from getting as close as she would have liked. Stroking his arm, Sansa was once again struck with how fortunate they were to have each other. If anyone else had inherited Winterfell with no strings attached, as he had, she did not imagine they would have given a single thought to Ned Stark’s daughter lost and alone in England. He rescued her from a life of misery, and she hoped that she had rescued him from a life of loneliness. His hand came up and squeezed her hip and she knew he had woken.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” He whispered in that beautiful, gravely morning voice of his.

She giggled, “Happy Christmas, my love.”

His hand then went to her belly, and he inclined his head, “Happy Christmas, my babes.”

Sansa smiled and placed her hand over his, “Babe… just one.”

Jon had latched onto Marya’s theory that she was carrying twins with tenacity, as had Randa who knew absolutely nothing about childbearing, but Sansa was still convinced that it was only one baby that she was carrying and would not be told otherwise.

Jon smiled at her and did not argue. He touched her cheek.

Lady howled and Sansa giggled, “I think she needs to be let outside.”

“If she keeps howling like that, she’s going to be sleeping outside,” Jon grumbled, with a sleepy smile.

“She’s barely more than a pup, Jon,” Sansa scolded.

Jon laughed, “She’s nearly as big as Ghost now.”

“Not so,” Sansa protested, “She’s barely half his size.”

“Well, she’s no longer a pup,” Jon reached down and tickled Sansa’s side making her laugh and kick involuntarily, which also made Lady bark at Jon.

“Lady will bite your hands off, if you don’t behave yourself,” Sansa teased as she grabbed his hand to stay him.

Jon threw back his head and laughed, and grabbed at her again, and kissed her, “More than likely Cook would poison me, if I disturbed you.”

Sansa giggled, and nuzzled her face against his neck, snuggling close to him again. Stroking her back and running his hand through her hair, Jon sighed in contentment. 

“I think we should build ourselves a cabin in the woods where we can hide away from it all,” Jon said.

Sansa smiled, this seemed to be their private dream, “And we can pretend to be shepherds?”

“Aye,” Jon chuckled and ran his fingers through her hair again.

“And we will take our horde of babes with us?” Sansa asked teasingly.

“Maybe,” Jon kissed her hair, and then her forehead and then her cheeks and then her collarbone.

Sansa pulled at his hair playfully, “We have breakfast waiting and the pups need to be taken outside.”

“It’s cold outside,” Jon whined like a boy.

“Nevertheless,” Sansa tutted.

Jon sighed, but smiled at her, “Nevertheless…”

“And we have guests arriving for lunch,” Sansa reminded him.

“Why did we invite guests over for lunch again?”

“Because we have dear friends whom we want with us at Christmas time.”

“Which reminds me,” Jon said, “Marya and Davos are not going to be coming up for lunch, a few of their sons managed to make their way home, and besides Marya’s rheumatisms in her knees has her in bed.”

“Oh, I am sorry for that,” Sansa said sadly, she had been looking forward to seeing Marya, and a more selfish part of her was concerned that if Marya’s knees continued to give her fits, would the kindly woman be able to deliver her baby?

“What’s that frown for?” Jon touched her cheek.

Sansa smiled and looked at him, surprised sometimes at how well they were growing to read each other, “I know it’s a silly worry, and selfish, and there is still a long way off yet, but I worry that if Marya’s knees do not get well, she will not be able to attend me at birth.”

Jon stroked her cheek, “Well, if she is not well enough, we will simply call up Sam and Gilly…”

Sansa nodded.

“But as you say, there is still some time yet…” Jon assured, as he started to sit up, taking the blanket with him.

Laughing, Sansa snatched it back, “I am quite naked beneath here, thank you.”

Jon chuckled smugly, “Aye, I know you are.”

“Do you want me to catch my death of cold?” Sansa teased as she borrowed deeper into the blankets.

“No, but I do believe you are the one who said we ought to get up, otherwise I might take some time to warm you, mo leannan,” Jon smirked.

Sansa smacked him gently with a pillow, though her cheeks were flushed. Rising, still quite naked himself, Jon fetched her robe and gave it to her with a gentle smile upon his face, and a kiss upon her forehead. Sansa admired his backside as he donned his breeches before she rose herself to get dressed.

* * *

The main chambers of the castle were adorned with holly and mistletoe and all things festive that Sansa could remember from her youth. She wanted this Christmas to be like all the Christmas’s she had spent as a child with her mother, and father, and brother and sister. The Christmas tree in the parlor had been specially selected by Jon, Sam, and Little Sam. In the future, Sansa would want to go about selecting a tree with Jon and their children, but it was not to be this year, with Sansa so heavily pregnant. She and their kindhearted young maids had decorated the tree with the delight of children at Christmas time, though her maids had less experience with traditional Christmas tide traditions. Christmas had always been her mother’s tradition, as her mother was English… and so the Scots in the household did not fully comprehend Sansa’s enthusiasm but they indulged her. The Scots were much more anticipating the Hogmanay celebrations, that Sansa also recalls from her childhood. Christmas for the Starks had always been rather intimate, but Hogmanay had always involved celebrations with their people, but first-footing celebrations were often well after the children were put to bed. Being so close to her time, Hogmanay would be challenging for her, and so she wanted their small and quiet Christmas to be perfect.

“Nary in my life, have I seen such tomfoolery over a tree,” said Cook, who was a staunch member of the Church of Scotland in their little parish.

Sansa chuckled, “Its Christmas, Cook.”

“And you hanging up all those sugar cookies, you commissioned me to make, on the tree!”

“For decorations.”

“An invitation for critters more like, surprised those two wolves you keep for pets have not got to them yet,” Cook huffed.

“Ghost and Lady know better, I think,” Sansa smiled.

“All this fussing over December twenty-fifth, you should be in bed resting your swollen ankles,” Cook tutted.

“My ankles are only barely swollen,” Sansa protested, as she looked down at her bare feet, that did not quite fit in her shoes anymore, and wiggled her toes.

Cook only pursed her lips and shook her head, “Tisn’t even the true day the Christ was born you know?”

Sansa giggled, “Yes, I know Cook.”

“You had better at least put some stockings on your feet before your guests arrive,” Cook admonished as she went back to stirring whatever goodness she was preparing for lunch.

Sam, Gilly and their children, and Randa Royce were coming up to the castle for Christmas lunch, and Sansa could not contain herself. She also wanted to discuss with Randa the baby’s nursery, though she had done so several times. Jon called it nesting, which had made her snort, but Cook said it was not uncommon for a woman with child to fret so over her dwelling, no matter how large or small it may be.

“I’ll be back down shortly, Cook,” Sansa said, as she made for the door of the kitchen.

“Going back up to flit like a finch over your little nest?” Cook asked with a smile.

Sansa frowned, why everyone wanted to compare her to a nesting bird, she would never know, but she did not care at the moment. Randa also did not particularly care what the nursery looked like, but Sansa made her evaluate her work anyway, for an extra layer of reassurance, as Jon did not seem adequately invested in the nursery in Sansa’s opinion. _Just like a man_ , Cook had told her disapprovingly.

“have one of the girls send Randa up, when she gets here, will you please?”

“Yes, ma’am, I live to serve,” Cook said with a teasing chuckle.

Sansa kissed the older woman’s cheek, “Thank you, Cook.”

“No more foolishness now, I have work to do.”

Sansa smiled and waddled off… at one point in her life, she might have dashed, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

Jon had commissioned her a rocking chair, which he had shipped all the way from the Americas, and she had it lovingly placed beside the cradle which had been used by her mother before her. Sansa missed her mother even more keenly of late, and she did not know if was the season, or the impending birth of her child, and all the unknowns she was embarking upon in becoming a mother. Sansa ran her hand along the wood of the cradle, in which she had a blanket knitted by her mother, and another, less superb one, knitted by herself.

“I told you the last time I was about, that there was nothing more you could do to this room,” Randa’s voice scolded playfully from the doorway.

Sansa turned, and smiled at her friend, “I wanted to show you the rocking chair Jon got me from America…”

Randa touched it, “Seems you’d be liable to rock yourself to sleep as much as the babies.”

“Baby,” Sansa corrected, and Randa snorted in disbelief, “I wanted your opinion on the floor…”

Randa raised an eyebrow, “The floor?”

“Do you think it needs a rug?”

“Seems like every cold floor needs a rug,” Randa agreed.

“Jon says we could procure one from London…”

“Well, Jon would know…” Randa chuckled.

Sansa smiled at her friend, “I know everyone thinks I’ve gone mad…”

Randa laughed, “No one thinks you’ve gone mad… I rather think you are just very eager to give Jon Snow his babies.”

“Baby.”

Randa looked almost longingly at the cradle.

“I do wish you could find yourself someone to love and give babies too.”

Randa schooled her features, “I don’t need a man, and as I’ve said before, I don’t know that I can bring a babe into the world, even if I should want too.”

“Just because your late husband could not give you children, does not mean you are barren necessarily,” Sansa said, “It may very well have been his fault, though no one likes to speak such things of men.”

“On the subject of babies,” Randa changed the trajectory of the conversation as she was prone to do when she did not want to discuss a matter, “I do believe I have been a poor chaperone of Pod and Mya.”

Sansa could not say she was surprised, “Well, with you all practically living in the same house, I suppose it was bound to happen, as I would imagine you are a poor chaperone indeed.”

“That is very cutting, Lady Snow,” Randa gasped with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Is Mya with child?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but I do believe that she and Pod have certainly been putting the cart before the horse,” Randa chuckled, “Though, they shall be wed in a fortnight, so I don’t suppose it shall matter much.”

Sansa supposed that was the way of things sometimes.

“All of you, marrying and having babies,” Randa shook her head, “Like ewes put out to pasture with the ram.”

“Randa!” Sansa gasped disapprovingly, though by now she was rather accustomed to the shocking things that could occasionally fall from Randa’s mouth, and so she decided to dish some back to her friend, “I wish I had another brother, or brother-in-law, so we could put you out to pasture.”

“Well,” Randa grinned, “That is a downright scandalous thing to say, Sansa Snow.”

The two women left the nursery, after Sansa took one last look over her shoulder, and closed the door.

* * *

Her Christmas lunch was perfect. The Tarly’s were always jolly company, and Jon, since it was only their very dearest friends, was at his leisure instead of brooding in a corner as he often did at social gatherings of a larger nature. Sansa watched the present company with pleasure, Jon and Sam discussing King George and Parliament, the children playing, Gilly and Randa speaking of the wool milling venture which had taken another successful turn, promising to be a lucrative investment come shearing season. Randa and Gilly were so different, but somehow Gilly seemed to be the only one of their social circles not thoroughly scandalized by Randa’s rather abrasive manners, save Sansa herself. Growing up in London with the Baratheon’s and then again with her Aunt Lysa, Sansa had never had any true friends, and she was grateful that she had so many now. She missed her family deeply still, but she was not alone… she had been alone for so many long and sad years, and now the sweetness of being surrounded by people who loved her and cared for her was almost overwhelming.

Jon looked at her and smiled as if he could read her mind.

She smiled back.

All afternoon, Sam, Gilly, the children and Randa spent with them, playing cards and holidays games that none were familiar with save Sansa, but they all enjoyed still. There was laughter all around, as Sansa imagined there should be at Christmas time… laughter and love and hope. When they left, Jon and Sansa retired to their rooms and drank cider in front of the fire, wrapped up in blankets together.

“Are you happy, Leannan?” Jon asked.

“Aye, I am most happy,” Sansa laid her head on his shoulder.

“I think your luncheon went off splendidly.”

Sansa chuckled, and kissed his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“I suppose holidays are both sad and happy, yes?”

Sansa nodded, and he reached up and touched her cheek.

“You miss your family?”

“Keenly,” she replied, “But I would not trade you…” she started and was not really sure what she was going to say… she wanted her family of course, but she would not trade him. 

“Nor I you…” He agreed.

They were no longer simply each other’s consolation… they had consoled each other, yes… but they had grown. Marya had been right, the consolation had grown into something sweeter and richer and deeper. They built a love from those small building blocks of consolation, and forgiveness, and hope… and oh, how Sansa loved him now…

“I love you, Jon,” Sansa said, “And thank you for loving me.”

Jon chuckled and kissed the top of her head, “Thank you for loving me.”

“I am so happy that you found me, that I am carrying your child, that we have built a life together.”

Jon turned toward her and tipped her chin up to look at him, “I have never been so happy in my life, as I have been since we wed, I hope you know that…”

Sansa gave him a soft smile.

“Even before I truly realized how I had grown to love you, you had enriched my life in a way that I never imagined another person could,” Jon said, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, “I was so alone, and never realized, I thought I was rescuing you… but you rescued me.”

“We rescued each other,” Sansa clarified.

He smiled, “Aye, we rescued each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side Note: When I originally plotted this story, I did not intend for Randa to become such a prominent figure, but kinda like Cook, she took on a life of her own, and became a prominent figure, and so I am still trying to determine how I would like her happily ever after to turn out...


End file.
